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THE YOUNG MAGDALEN; 



AND 



OTHER POEMS 



BY 



FRANCIS S. SMITH 



NEW YORK WEEKLY, 
"eVELEEN WILSON," 



AND AUTHOR OF "MAGGIE, THE CHARITY CHILD 
BERTHA, THE SEWING-MACHINE GIRL," ETC. 



WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. 






PHILADELPHIA: .. 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 
306 CHESTNUT STREET. 



5 '^2 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by 

FRANCIS S. SMITH, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



Printed by Kjng & Baikd, 

Pli INTERS AND StEREOTYPERS, 

607 Sassom Street. 



CONTENTS 



THE YOUNG MAGDALEN. 

THE YOUNG MAGDALEN 1 1 



POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 

TO MY DAUGHTER, ON HER FIFTEENTH BH^TH- 

■■■■■■ DAY 21 

WE MUST LOVE SOMETHING 24 

WHEN FLOWERS THEIR INCENSE BREATHE AT 

EVEN 25 

MEMORY -^ 

THE STEP-DAUGHTER 28 

HUMAN LOVE 29 

EM SITTING IN THE TWILIGHT 31 

HOW LITTLE WE KNOW OF EACH OTHER 32 

KEEP YOUR HEART WARM 34 

THE CHIEF MOURNER 35 

SEND THE LITTLE ONES HAPPY TO BED 37 

WHEN FRIENDS PROVE FALSE 38 

KISS ME GOOD-NIGHT, DARLING 39 

BE NOT UNKIND 39 

HE'S TEN YEARS OLD TO-DAY 40 

A WANDERER'S PRAYER 42 

BE KIND TO YOUR MOTPIER 43 

TO MY SISTER IN CALIFORNIA 44 

(3) 



4 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE WILLOW 46 

ALL BORN IN OCTOBER, 48 

LET US CLING TO THOSE WHO LOVE US 49 

COME TO ME, DARLING 50 

POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 

BEAUTY 53 

LAUGHTER AND TEARS 55 

SINNING AND SUFFERING 57 

OLD TOWSER 58 

TWILIGHT MUSINGS 60 

SNOW FLAKES 62 

MAN'S INGRATITUDE 63 

THE FIENDS OF DISCORD 64 

THERE'S SOMETHING WORSE THAN DEATH 66 

TIME...; 67 

BEWARE OF HIM 68 

STRUGGLING CUBA 69 

FIGHT WHEN YOU MUST 71 

ODE TO POVERTY 73 

MY IDEAL DAY 75 

A FEW THOUGHTS 76 

" WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT." 78 

HAVE CHARITY 80 

THE TWO SLEEPERS 82 

A WORD IN ANGER SPOKEN 84 

THE POOR MAN'S SONG 86 

THE BOUQUET-GIRL 87 

HEART-HUNGER 88 

THE WOUND MAY BE HEALED, BUT THE SCAR WILL 

REMAIN 89 

TO HATE 90 

THE WAIL OF THE BETRAYED 91 

SPOIL TPIE ROD AND SPARE THE CPIILD 92 

THE DIFFERENCE 93 



CONTENTS. 5 
POEMS OF RELIGIOUS THOUGHT. 

PAGE 

HEAVEN ^7 

FAITH 98 

TO A SKULL IN OUR SANCTUM 100 

THE HUMAN HEART 102 

" GOD BLESS OUR HOME ! " 103 

A CHILD'S SONG OF PRAISE 104 

THE BIBLE 105 

PEACE, BE STILL! 107 

SHALL WE KNOW THOSE WHO LOVE US? 108 

LIFE AND DEATH 109 

BE HUMBLE no 

ALONE AMONG THE SHADOWS 112 

A WANDERER'S PRAYER 113 

WHAT IS LIFE? 114 

POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 

A CHRISTMAS STORY 117 

"NOT NOW" 122 

LET ME NOT BE NEAR HIM WHEN HE DIES 124 

STARVATION 126 

ALONE 129 

"PLEASE BURY MY LITTLE DARLING." 131 

DEATH IN THE TOMB 133 

THE DRUNKARD 134 

THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE 135 

LINES ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY WHO 

DIED ONLY FOUR WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE... 138 

THE TYRANT KING 139 

WORLD-WEARY 142 

THE OUTCAST I43 

THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM 146 

THE BEGGAR-GIRL'S COMPLAINT 150 

"SEEKING WARMTH, AND FINDING DEATH." 152 



6 CONTENTS, 

PAGE 

THE FELON'S LAST NIGHT I55 

NEW-YEAR'S EVE I57 

POEMS OF COMEDY. 

THE SURPRISE PARTY i6i 

PERHAPS SO, BUT I DOUBT IT i68 

THE ROOT OF THE EVIL 170 

OURS 171 

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WRITE 175 

THE LAW STUDENT 177 

THE JOLLY HERMIT 179 

THE TINKER'S MISTAKE 182 

MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS 185 

THE IRISH FRENCHMAN : 188 

POEMS FOR MUSIC. 

THERE'S GOOD IN THE WORLD 193 

STAND TO THE RIGHT 194 

WEAR NO ANGER ON THY BROW 195 

CREEP CLOSE TO MY HEART, O MY DARLING 196 

BEAUTIFUL BESSIE 197 

COME BACK TO ME 199 

SHOULD FORTUNE FROWN 200 

FRIENDLESS NELLY 201 

WOMAN 203 

THE OLD KNICKERBOCKER'S SONG 204 

YOU'LL WEEP WHEN I AM DEAD 206 

WHAT ARE THE SAD WAVES SAYING ? 207 

WHY ART TPIOU COLD ? 209 

CRAZY ESTELLE 210 

THE LASS OF CLOVER LANE 211 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

A CAPITAL THEME 215 

"I DON'T CARE!" 218 



CONTENTS. y 

PAGE 

IMPROVE YOUR TIME 220 

LOOK AHEAD , 221 

THE FIREMAN'S DEATH 222 

AT SEA UPON LIFE'S OCEAN 223 

THE HONEST WORKING GIRL 225 

IF YOU CAN'T PRAISE YOUR NEIGHBOR, DON'T 

NAME HIM AT ALL 227 

THE CUBAN VOLUNTEER'S FAREWELL 228 

"I CAN'T!" AND "I'LL TRY" 230 

LINES WRITTEN IN "OUR CARRIE'S ALBUM" 232 

A PLEA FOR CUBA 233 

TAKE IT EASY! 234 

THE KERNEL AND THE NUT 235 

FOLD UP THE STARRY BANNER 237 

THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY 238 

WORK 239 

HARD LUCK 241 

THE HORSE 244 

THE POWER OF STEAM 245 

WOMAN 247 

MEAGHER'S ESCAPE 248 

RELIGION 249 

THE HERO SAILOR 252 

ELSIE'S DEATH 254 

BIRDS WERE NOT MADE IN VAIN 256 

HE DID NOT READ THE NEWS 258 

WILL YOU LOVE ME THE SAME? 261 

OH, KEEP TRUE TO ME! 262 

A CHRISTMAS NIGHT VISION 263 

TO THE BABY 265 

CUBA 266 

RAT, THE NEWSBOY 268 

YOU SPEAK AN UNTRUTH 271 

WHY NOT FORGIVE HIM? 272 

MAGIC... 273 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

MY FATE 274 

BURRIEL, THE BUTCHER 276 

FAREWELL 277 

IN TIME 278 

SWEET MEMORIES 279 



THE YOUNG MAGDALEN. 



TPIE YOUNG MAGDALEN. 

A FISHERMAN'S hut stood all alone 
Down by the sobbing sea, 
And there all day the fisherman toil'd 

And whistled merrily, 
For his heart was as light and free from care 

As a human heart can be. 
He had a tidy, goo.d old wife — 
He loved her as dearly as his life. 
He had a daughter fair, and she 
Was brave and pure as she could be — 
As bright and pure as the sobbing sea, 
With a face as open and soul as free. 

"I wonder much," quoth the fisherman, 

As he stood by the sobbing sea, 
"How folks can hear a sigh or a sob 

In the breakers rolling free. 
I've listen'd to them for many a year. 

And 'tis music sweet to me — 
'Tis pure as the bright sky overhead — 
By it I earn my daily bread — 
It has made of my cabin a charmed spot — 
I have braved its storms — they have harm'd me not- 
And there's not on all the earth, to me, 
A sight so grand as the boundless sea, 
With its snow-capp'd billows rolling free." 

(II) 



12 THE YOUNG MAGDALEN. 

One day a foreign ship was wreck'd 
Upon the sobbing sea, 

And her unhicky captain — a youth of high degree- 
Found in the fisher's cabin sweet hospitahty — 

'Twere better he had found a grave 
Beneath the sobbing sea. 

Standing upon the ocean's verge. 

Regardless of the seething surge, 

The fisher girl his hthe form saw 

Fighting the sea to reach the shore. 

Fearless the generous ocean child 

Stepp'd forth into the breakers wild, 

And, whispering an earnest prayer, 

She reach'd and grasp'd his long, dark hair, 

Just as the struggle he gave o'er, 

And brought him senseless to the shore. 

Ah, me, it was an anxious night 

Beside the sobbing sea. 
When in the fisher's cot a group 

Stood watching tearfully. 
Much dreading that the sailor's soul 

Had found eternity. 
But soon their doubts were set at rest — 
A wave of life swept o'er his breast; 
And then his dark eyes, soft and mild. 
Unclosed, and then he sigh'd and smiled, 
And fix'd a look of glad surprise 
Upon the fisher-girl, whose eyes 
In sad confusion sought the floor. 
The while a pang ne'er felt before — 
A deep, strange, sweet, delicious pain, 
Absorbing soul, and heart, and brain — 



THE YOUNG MAGDALEN-. 13 

Caused her to tremble, blush and sigh, 
And weep sweet tears, she knew not why. 

There's something in the very air 

That fans the sobbing sea. 
Which causes Love to grow apace 

And ripen rapidly. 
And fill his youthful votaries 

With bliss and ecstasy. 
The great, broad ocean unconfined — 
The free, uncurb'd, resistless wind — 
The billows in their wayward course — 
All type Love's soul-absorbing force. 
And so it happen'd that the youth, 
Who knew not faith, who knew not truth, 
Found favor in the maiden's eyes. 
It was not prudent — 'twas not wise — 
But when was ever wisdom known 
To rule where Love had fix'd his throne.? 
Her lover, with consummate art. 
Ensnared the fisher-girl's pure heart. 
She thought him noble, brave and true — 
She worshipp'd as few maidens do — 
No word she to her parents said. 
But trusted him and with him fled — ■ 
Better had she been stricken dead. 

And now the aged couple stand 

Beside the sobbing sea. 
And the great waves roll upon the shore 

In dread monotony — 
And in its voice so sweet before 

They hear no melody. 



14 



THE YOUNG MAGDALEN, 

It comes to their ears with a mournful sound, 

Each plash is a pang each breaker a wound, 

It sounds like the wail of a spirit lost 

On a phantom vessel tempest tost. 

And the foam of the waves which lave their feet 

Reminds them of a winding sheet. 

Oh, the waves they once loved so much to see 

Are sobbing now in reality. 

Months roll'd away, and to that cot 

Near by the sobbing sea 
Came to the stricken aged ones 

The anniversary 
Of their lost darling's sudden flight 

To guilt and ignominy. 
It was a black, tempestuous night 
Without a single star to light. 
The hapless mariner scudding by, 
Tost on the dark waves mountain high, 
The storm-fiend howl'd till all the air 
Seem'd filled with shrieks of wild despair. 
While rattling rain and lightning flash 
Were mingled with the thunder crash. 
And, aU in all, it seem'd such weather 
As heaven and earth might bring together. 

That night of elemental war 

Down by the sobbing sea 
The fisher and his good old wife 

In sweet humility 
Were reading in the sacred book 

A touching history. 
It was the case of one who fell 
Like their poor lost one, little Nell — 



THE YOUNG MAGDALEN, 15 

And who frown'd on and threaten'd too, 
With all her sin to Jesus flew — 
Jesus, who shielded her from harm, 
And quieted her great alarm — 
And with compassion welling o'er. 
Said, mildly, "Go and sin no more." 

The aged couple pray'd that night 

Down by the sobbing sea 
That Christ would comfort their poor lamb 

Wherever she might be, 
And save her from the deeper depths 

Of sin and misery. 
And as they raised their tearful eyes, 
A crash, that seem'd to rend the skies, 
Broke on their ears — and with a roar 
The tempest from its hinges tore 
The frail, worm-eaten cabin door. 
And there amid the tempest wild 
Stood one who look'd like their lost child. 
Bathed in the lurid lightning's glare. 
With wild eyes and dishevell'd hair. 
Her garments dripping with the rain. 
Her ashy face convulsed by pain. 
It was not strange the aged pair 
Thought poor lost Nelly's ghost stood there. 



OJ 



But soon a cry, sharp, shrill and long 
Down by the sobbing sea, 

Awaken'd in those aged hearts 
A thrill of ecstasy. 

" It is no ghost ! " the fisher cried, 
" 'Tis she, old wife ! 'Tis she 1 " 



1 6 THE YOUNG MAGDALEN. 

Another instant and that form, 
Fainting beneath the raging storm, 
Was wildly caught and madly press'd 
Close to a loving mother's breast. 
" Look up, my darling ! Let me view- 
Once more those eyes so bonny blue, 
And let me hear you speak again, 
'Twill still my doubts and ease the pain 
Which long has linger'd in my heart 1 " 
No word. The mother gave a start. 
*' Her lips are white and cold as death — 
I feel no pulse — I taste no breath ! 
Quick, husband ! place her on the bed 1 
Too late ! Oh, God ! my darling's dead ! " 
" No ! See ! She moves ! " the fisher cried, 
And then the blue eyes open'd wide — 
And then a sigh burst from that breast, 
Deceived and tortured by unrest — 
And then a smile of calm delight 
Broke o'er that face so ghastly white, 
And then in accents sadly slow 
The weary lost one murmur'd low: 

" Home ! Home ! Sweet home ! Hark, mother, hark 

I hear the sobbing sea ! 
But oh, it had another sound 

In infancy to me ! 
For I was very happy then 

And from pollution free. 
The dear old sea has alter'd not — 
'Tis without blemish, speck or spot, 
Its glad, free waters lave the shore — 
It sings the song it sang of yore — 



THE YOUNG MAGDALEN. \y 

But now to me no joy it brings — 

It sadly sobs — not gayly sings — 

For I am alter'd — I have sinn'd — 

And rolling sea and whistling wind 

Will never sound the same to me, 

For they are pure as pure can be." 

The lost one paused and gasp'd for breath : 

"Come closer, mother! This is death!" 

The sweet smile never left her face — 

One long-drawn sigh — one last embrace — 

And on the loving mother's breast 

The tortured bosom sank to rest. 

And now there is a new-made grave 

Beside the sobbing sea, 
And there the wild birds all the day 
Make sweetest melody. 
And the great ocean waves pour forth 

Their solemn monody. 
The tortured bosom is at rest, 
The sad soul once by sin oppress'd 
Has flown to meet the gaze of One 
Who pities all — who frowns on none — 
Who felt the subtle tempter's skill, 
And knows how weak is human will. 
And can we doubt that He has press'd 
The lost one to His loving breast. 
And whisper'd sweetly, *' Trembler, come, 
Redeem'd, forgiven, to thy home ! " 

Sing, sweet birds, over Nelly's grave! 
Roll on, oh, sobbing sea ! 

B 



1 8 THE YOUNG MAGDALEN: 

For Death, the friend of tortured hearts, 
Has set the lost one free ! 

And what remains of her to-day 
Is pure as pure can be. 



POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 



TO MY DAUGHTER, ON HER FIF- 
TEENTH BIRTHDAY. 

V I ^IS fifteen years ago to-day 

JL Since Heaven sent to me 
A winsome, blue-eyed baby-girl 

As sweet as she could be. 
And when I took her in my arms, 

Her cherub face to view, 
I felt a strange ecstatic joy 

That thrill'd me through and through. 



I watch'd my darling as she grew, 

So artless, pure, and mild. 
And sometimes sigh'd to think that she 

Could not remain a child. 
But now that fifteen sunny years 

Have fled since she was born, 
She seems as much a babe to me 

As on her natal morn. 



And thus I think 'twill ever be 
As on the seasons roll — 

The babe will still remain a babe 
While tarries here my soul. 

(21) 



22 TO MY DAUGHTER, 

Yet, should she live, the time must come 

When sJie will surely see 
A woman in her looking-glass, 

Whate'er my thoughts may be. 

And when that time does come, I know 

Her mirror will reveal 
The face of one whose character 

Is bright as polish'd steel. 
She'll be as full of love and faith. 

And pure as she is now, 
And virtue's self will sit enthroned 

Upon my darling's brow. 



'Tis true she'll find life's pathway strewn 

With thorns as well as flowers, 
And she, when sorely pierced, may sigh 

For childhood's happy hours. 
But whether she be fill'd with joy, 

Or 'neath the chastening rod. 
She'll have the same dislike for wrong 

The same sweet trust in God. 



My darling, O my darling! 

As time speeds on his way. 
You'll find another love than mine. 

To comfort you some day — 
A deep and thrilling sentiment 

Which you will think divine — 
A love that may be more intense, 

But not more true than mine. 



TO MY DAUGHTER. 23 

Tis right that you should make new friends, 

As through the world you glide — 
I cannot hope to keep you, love, 

Forever at my side; 
'Tis right that you should form new ties — 

'Tis nature's great behest — . 
Nor would I clip thy wings, sweet dove, 

To keep thee in my nest. 



But this I know — whate'er your lot — 

Wherever you may rove — 
You'll still possess, in all its depth, 

A father's holy love. 
Whether beneath the parent wing. 

Or on life's troubled sea, 
God bless my bonny, blue-eyed girl, 

Wherever she may be ! 



24 WE MUST LOVE SOMETHING, 



WE MUST LOVE SOMETHING. 

WE must love something. Nature has decreed 
That human hearts should not all selfish be — 
The gloomy wretch who feels no social -need 

May o'er a brute display love's ecstasy. 
The woman who hates man may love a flower, 

Or make an idol of a bright-wing'd bird. 
The heart will long for something — love's great power, 
Since Adam's birth, the human heart hath stirr'd. 

We must love something. Those who are deceived 

And feel the sting of falsehood and deceit, 
Are apt to rail, because they are aggrieved. 

At every tie which makes existence sweet : 
In vain they hide themselves from human ken, 

And o'er their bitter recollections brood — 
Some flower, or bird, or tree they'll love again, 

E'en in their sombre, gloomy solitude. 

We must love something — and if this be so. 

When we're deceived and wounded to the core. 
Why not our sorrow to the light wind throw, 

And try that lottery, a heart, once more .-* 
It is the best and noblest thing to love. 

If it be true and faithful to the end, 
And in a second venture we may prove 

That full fruition will on faith attend. 



WHEN FLOWERS THEIR INCENSE, ETC. 2$ 



\ 

WHEN FLOWERS THEIR INCENSE 
BREATHE AT EVEN. 

WHEN flowers their incense breathe at even, 
And sweetly soft the zephyrs sigh, 
A voice speaks to my soul from heaven — 

A voice of sweetest melody. 
It whispers of those hours departed — 

Those hours of love's sweet ecstasy — 
That fled and left me broken-hearted, 
And never can come back to me. 

Oh, darling, as time hurries by. 

To me thou seemest doubly dear ; 
And though fond memory wakes a sigh, 

'Tis sweet to feel thy presence near. 
I cannot, if I would, forget 

Thy radiant smile, thy balmy breath — 
I cling to them with fervor yet. 

Though memory brings the sting of death. 

Would I could cleave the ether blue, 

And join thee in yon shining star. 
How gladly would I fly to you 

And leave this selfish world afar. 
But all in vain my spirit yearns 

To cleave the airy realms of space, 
For until dust to dust returns 

I cannot reach thy dwelling-place. 



26 . MEMORY. 



MEMORY. 

OH, memory, in my day-dreams, 
When a backward view I cast, 
And in imagination taste 

The pleasures of the past, 
Though the present is all shadow, 

And the past is in its grave, 
Yet I would not, in my sorrow. 
Steep my soul in Lethe's wave. 

I have revell'd in Love's sunshine — 

I have drank his dulcet tone — 
I have felt the sting of coldness 

In the heart I thought my own ; 
But as the bow of promise 

Is born of clouds and rain. 
So memories sweet will rise above 

The memories of pain. 

I have felt the death of passion 

In the kiss of ecstasy — 
I've clasp'd an idol to my breast 

Which struggled to get free — 
I have realized in anguish 

What it is to love in vain. 
And yet the memory of my bliss 

Is greater than my pain. 



MEMORY. 27 



Oh, glorious golden moments 

Of love, and faith, and trust, 
I'll hug thee to my bosom 

Till dust returns to dust, 
'Tis painful to relinquish 

What I deem'd reality. 
But, oh ! 'twere harder far to lose 

So sweet a memory. 



In conning my past record, 

I find much that gives me pain, 
And much that I would alter 

Could I live my life again ; 
But, oh ! my glad soul revels in 

Those hours of ecstasy. 
When Love seem'd mine and this bright world 

Was Paradise to me. 



28 THE STEP-DAUGHTER. 



THE STEP-DAUGHTER. 

SHE sits all alone in the church-yard, 
In the depth of her sorrow and pride — 
Her mother's a saint in heaven, 

Her father is with his new bride. 
No lowly-breathed word of endearment, 

Or sweet consolation she hears. 
And she rests her hot brow on the headstone 
With an anguish too bitter for tears. 

'Tis Sunday — the sweet birds are singing, 

And bright flowers everywhere 
Are lifting their heads in the sunshine, 

And giving their breath to the air. 
But the step-daughter sits in a stupor. 

As though all her senses were numb, 
And heeds not the sound of the church-bell 

With its solemnly utter'd ''Gomel Gomel" 

And thus she sits hour by hour — 

No rest, no refreshment, no sleep — 
"Poor child!" cries a friend of her mother, 

" I wish we could cause her to weep 1 
She sits here all day without speaking, 

Till the gray of the twilight appears. 
And the fire which burns in her bosom 

Can only be quench'd by her tears." 



HUMAN LOVE. 29 

Hark! The sound of the church organ rises 

And floats on the calm Sabbath air, 
And a look of sad interest comes over 

The face of the mourner so fair. 
And then as the grand choir follows, 

The eyes of the maiden grow dim. 
And the bright tears gush forth, as she listens — 

'Tis her dead mother's favorite hymn. 

Oh, wonderful power of music, 

Thou hast conquer'd the maiden's despair, 
And I wish for her sake that her father 

And his newly-made wife had been there. 
'Twould have seem'd that a sweet voice from heaven 

Their negligent ears had beguiled, 
And have taught them to treat with more favor, 

That dead mother's sorrowing child. 



HUMAN LOVE. 

SEE yonder new-made grave. 
O'er which the willows wave- 
No sound is heard there, save 

The wild bird's song. 

Sweet flowers fresh and fair. 

Arranged with nicest care, 

Speak, in the fragrant air, 

Of friendship strong. 



30 HUMAN LOVE. 

Those who revered the dead 
Hang o'er his lowly bed, 
And sympathetic shed, 

Uncheck'd, their tears. 
Will flowers deck that mound — 
Will loving friends stand 'round- 
Will tears bedew that ground 

In coming years? 

Or will the mourn'd-for dead. 
When a few months have fled, 
Sleep in his narrow bed. 

Forgotten quite? 
And will the flowers fair, 
. Blooming so richly there. 
Perish from want of care, 
Cut down by blight? 

Alas, for human kind! 
How seldom do we find, 
E'en when in life, a mind 

To constant prove? 
Then is it strange that we, 
. When death the soul sets free, 
Should soon forgotten be? 
Such is man's love ! 



PM SITTING IN THE TWILIGHT^ 3 1 



I'M SITTING IN THE TWILIGHT. 

I'M sitting in the twilight, 
And I'm thinking of the past, 
That was so full of fancy tints 

Too beautiful to last; 
And as fond memory brings me 

Half pleasure and half pain, 
There comes to me upon the air 
An old, familiar strain. 

Oh, how it thrills my senses — 

That well-remember'd lay! 
'Twas sung by one who long ago 

Pass'd from the earth away; 
And as my glad ears drink it. 

In the holy hush of even, 
It seems to me as though the sounds 

Were wafted here from heaven. 

Sweet music! Holy music! 

Immortal as the soul! 
How dead must be that human heart 

Which owns not thy control! 
I have not heard that melody 

For many, many years, 
And yet its magic influence 

Has melted me to tears. . 



32 HOW LITTLE WE KNOW OF EACH OTHER. 

Oh, mother! darhng mother! 

It is thy old refrain 
That in the solemn twilight hour 

Comes back to me again; 
And while, entranced, I listen, 

My fancy is beguiled. 
And thy sweet voice comes to my ear 

As when I was a child. 

And may I not, dear mother. 

When my soul is call'd away, 
Fly to thy side and greet thee 

In the realms of endless day ? 
And there in sweet reality, 

Be folded to thy breast, 
And hear again the angel voice 

That once luU'd me to rest? 



HOW LITTLE WE KNOW OF EACH 
OTHEK. 

HOW little we know of each other 
As we pass through the journey of life, 
With its struggles, its fears, and temptations — 

Its heart-breaking cares and its strife. 
We can only see things on the surface, 

For few people glory in sin. 
And an unruffled face is no index 
To the tumult which rages within. 



HOW LITTLE WE KNOW OF EACH OTHER. 

How little we know of each other ! 

The man who to day passes by, 
Bless'd with fortune, and honor, and titles, 

And holding his proud head so high, 
May carry a dread secret with him 

Which makes of his bosom a hell, 
And he, sooner or later, a felon. 

May writhe in a prisoner's cell. 

How little we know of each other ! 

That woman of fashion who sneers 
At the poor girl betray'd and abandon'd. 

And left to her sighs and her tears, 
May, ere the sun rises to-morrow. 

Have the mask rudely torn from her face. 
And sink from the height of her glory 

To the dark shades of shame and disgrace. 

How little we know of each other ! 

Of ourselves, too, how little we know ! 
We are all weak when under temptation. 

All subject to error and woe. 
Then let blessed charity rule us — 

Let us put away envy and spite — 
Or the skeleton grim in our closet 

May some day be brought to the light. 



33 



34 



KEEP YOUR HEART WARM. 



KEEP YOUR HEART WARM. 

KEEP your heart warm — be gentle and forbearing, 
Whatever trials may your path surround — 
If slander follow you with tongue unsparing, 

Retaliation will not heal the wound. 
Strike back with vigor if a foe assail you — 

Each man a right to self-protection hath — 
But, the strife ended, hate will not avail you — 
*' Let not the sun go down upon your wrath/' 

Keep your heart warm in spite of all mischances, 

And cherish love for all of human kind — 
A morbid soul man's misery enhances — 

A loving spirit makes a happy mind. 
In a true heart, crush'd by woe, love ever lingers, 

And feels more sympathy for others' ills. 
As the sweet flower, press'd by careless fingers, 

Its odor rare more plenteously distills. 

Keep your heart warm if you would taste true pleasure- 
Crush not the erring — strive their faults to cure — 

He who his neighbors' acts would strictly measure. 
Should first take heed that he himself is pure. 

And if you'd know the secret of contentment. 
Rebellious mortals, simple is the charm — 

'Tis this : Lie down at night without resentment, 
Feeling no wish a soul on earth to harm. 



THE CHIEF MOURNER. 35 



THE CHIEF MOURNER. 

''nr^WAS eve — a glorious eve ! 

JL The bright stars sparkled in the expanse above, 
Like jewels in a kingly garb of blue, 
And the round moon with its soft and holy light, 
Look'd sadly down upon this giddy world. 
The zephyr, wafted from the balmy south, 
Kiss'd the sweet flowers and whisper'd to the leaves, 
Whose emerald faces bow'd 
In homage to their unseen king. 
Who, gayly singing on his wanton way, 
Call'd forth the ripples from the limpid lake 
To join him in his gleeful happy song. 
The whipporwill, sweet minstrel of the twilight gray, 
Pour'd forth her piteous melancholy plaint. 
And insect voices mingled with her note. 
All joining in a vesper hymn 
Which fell upon the holy hush of night 
Like sweetest strains from a celestial choir. 

Bathed in the moon's soft light the village churchyard lay, 

Its marble tablets standing cold and still 

Above the swelling mounds, 

Fit emblems of the frigid, pulseless forms which lay 

beneath 
In the calm, quiet sleep of silent death. 
No more the slaves of avarice, pride, and black revenge — 



36 THE CHIEF MOURNER. 

No more the weary toilers up the hill of fame — 
No more the zealous serfs of proud ambition, 
But freed, forever freed, from all the passions wild 
Which make this life a burden and a curse. 

Beneath the drooping branches of a willow tree 

There is a new-made grave : 

No stone as yet uprears its marble front 

To tell who sleeps below ; 

For but a few brief hours have pass'd 

Since mourning friends stood round the solemn spot. 

To see the sleeper placed within his narrow bed. 

They saw him gently laid to rest, and then. 

With eyelids wet, and heavy hearts departed 

To eulogize his virtues — and forget him. 

Not all, however, will so careless prove ; 

For 'mid his mourners one there was 

Who did not leave the spot. 

Motionless he stood till the sad rites were ended, 

And then, when all were gone. 

He stretch'd himself upon the piled-up earth. 

And, with one mighty sigh of grief. 

Gave up the life which now he did not value. 

And there he lies prone on the damp, cold clay, 

True to the last — chief mourner he of all. 

And yet no stone will ever mark his grave. 

For he is but a dog — a huge Newfoundland dog — 

Who loved the dead with so intense a love 

That the barbed shaft which laid his master low 

Pierced his great heart as well. 

And so he fell a martyr to affection. 

''AH that a man hath wilt he give for his life." 

Hero hath freely given his life for love ! 



SEND THE LITTLE OAES HAPPY TO BED. 37 



SEND THE LITTLE ONES HAPPY 
TO BED. 

SEND the little ones happy to bed, 
When closes the troublesome day; 
Let no harsh invective be said, 

To ruffle their minds while they pray. 
Sore trials and troubles full soon 

The sweet sleep of childhood will ban; 
Then let them lie joyously down. 

And cherish bright dreams while they. can. 

Send the little ones happy to bed. 

Though they may be mischievous and wild — 
Nature seldom bestows a wise head 

On a rosy-cheek'd, light-hearted child. 
Then let their glad spirits have play. 

And brighter and stronger they'll grow, 
Like a stream that runs free on its way, 

And suffers no check in its flow. 

Send the little ones happy to bed. 

You know not what ill may be near; 
Ere the morning your pets may be dead. 

Then vain the regret or the tear. 
So let them lie down with delight, 

And fail not to give and to take 
A kiss when they prattle " Good-night ! " 

And a kiss in the morn when they wake. 



38 WHEN FRIENDS PROVE FALSE. 



WHEN FRIENDS PROVE FALSE. 

WHEN friends prove false and joys depart, 
And life seems drear to thee; 
When grief lies heavy on thy heart, 

Then fly, love, fly to me. 
Be thou my only treasured guest. 
Of all the world the dearest, best ; 
While pillow'd on this faithful breast, 
From pain thou shalt be free. 

A selfish, sordid soul may know 

The blighting touch of care. 
But hearts that feel love's genial glow, 

Are proof against despair. 
So, when life's storms around us rise, 
And fate her keenest arrow tries, 
We'll gaze, love, in each other's eyes, 

And read our safety there. 

Let courtiers fawn on royalty, 

Well pleased a look to get, 
I'd rather win a smile from thee 

Than wear a coronet. 
With thee life's darkest hour is bright. 
Deprived of thee, life has no light ; 
My heart thy throne is day and night. 

My gems thine eyes, my pet. 



KISS ME GOOD-NIGHT.— BE NOT UNKIND, 39 



KISS ME GOOD-NIGHT, DARLING. 

THE clock has struck ten, Willie, dear, and you know 
Papa has declared that at ten you must go. 
Old folks are so queer ! But perhaps he is right. 
So kiss me good-night, darling ! Kiss me good-night ! 

I declare 'tis eleven, and you are here still ! 
You know well enough /'/;/ not keeping you. Will ! 
If you don't go at once, I must put out the light. 
So kiss me good-night, darling ! Kiss me good-night ! 

'Tis twelve o'clock, now, and papa's out of bed ! 

Don't you hear his gruff voice and quick step overhead ! 

Here's your hat ! Go at once ! Oh ! I'm in such 

affright ! 
Quick ! Kiss me good-night, darling ! Kiss me good- 



night 



BE NOT UNKIND. 



BE not unkind to the needy and lowly — 
Charity's mission is lovely and holy — 
Hard is the heart that feels not for its neighbor, 
Doom'd by misfortune to groan and to labor. 



40 HE'S TEN YEARS OLD TO-DAY. 

Be not unkind to the aged and weary — 
Life at its close must be darksome and dreary — 
Bear their complainings and foibles with meekness, 
You may grow old and display the same weakness. 

Be not unkind to the youthful offender — 
He to the accents of love will surrender — 
Force, for a time, his wild passions may fetter, 
But, in the end, will it render him better ? 

No, his proud heart hates the strong chain that binds it. 
And chafes, like a stream 'gainst the wall that confines it, 
'Till, gathering strength in its spirit abhorrent. 
It breaks its strons: bonds and shoots forth in a torrent. 



*& 



Be not unkind to a soul that comes near you — 
Harshness and anger may cause one to fear you — 
But what a recompense waiteth above you. 
If you can teach the rebellious to love you. 



HE'S TEN YEARS OLD TO-DAY. 

LOOK at him as he bounds along! 
The red-cheek'd, bright-eyed boy ! 
His well-knit limbs so lithe and strong, 

His shout so full of joy! 
School's not in yet — he's full of glee, 

And ripe for any play; 

His little heart is full, for he 

Is ten years old to-day. 



HE'S TEN YEARS OLD TO-DAY. 

His roomy pockets plethoric 

With top, and cord, and ball, 
And rags, and stones, and bits of stick, 

And other trifles small. 
The hour is his, his mind is free, 

So get not in his way — 
Is he not rich? besides, you see, 

He's ten years old to-day. 

He is a prince among the boys 

On this his natal morn ; 
Above them all you hear his voice, 

Clear as a bugle-horn. 
He laughs, he screams, he runs "like mad, 

No colt could wilder play — 
But prythee do not scold the lad, 

He's ten years old to-day. 

O happy boy! so free from care. 

How sad it is to know 
That time will mark thy forehead fair 

With trouble, toil, and woe ! 
But, haply, you're untrammell'd now, 

So frolic while you may — 
Though grief at last may shade thy brow 

You're only ten to-day. 



42 A WANDERER'S PRAYER. 



A WANDERER'S PRAYER. 

FATHER in heaven, when my soul 
Shall take its flight from earth, 
Grant that my frame may perish on 

The soil that gave it birth ; 
Grant that the friends who cherish'd me 

In sunshine and in gloom, 
Who sorrow'd and rejoiced with me, 
May lay me in the tomb. 

I know that when the spirit flies 

Its prison-house of clay, 
The wondrous structure, cold and dead, 

Soon hastens to decay ; 
But though the pulseless, mouldering clod 

No sense of joy may have. 
My spirit will rejoice when friends 

Assemble 'round my grave. 

I wish no monumental pile 

To mark the solemn spot, 
No epitaph in fulsome style 

To tell what I was not ; 
But I'd have those who knew me here, 

As o'er my tomb they bend, 
Say, with a feeling all sincere, 

" He was a faithful friend I " 



BE KIND TO YOUR MOTHER. 43 



BE KIND TO YOUR MOTHER. 

BE kind to your mother! Oh! be not ungrateful 
When age dims her eye, or disease racks her frame ; 
No fault in mankind shows more glaring and hateful, 

Than that which would lead us her foibles to blame. 
She has borne with our follies in life's early stage. 
And should we not, then, bear with hers in her age 1 

Be kind to your mother! Has she not stood near you 
When loathsome disease caused all others to fly? 

To comfort, to solace, to nurse, and to cheer you — 
Yes, even if call'd on, to suffer and die 1 

Then in her decline you should never demur, 

If you have to labor and suffer for her. 

Be kind to your mother! Be duteous and grateful— 
The heart's deepest rev'rence and love are her due ; 

And if of these natural claims you're neglectful. 
Look not for respect from your children to you. 

Each unfilial action against you is scored. 

And when you grow old, you will reap your reward. 

Be kind to your mother; for fast she is failing, 

And soon she will sink 'neath the sad weight of years, 

And all your regrets will then prove unavailing— 
Your actions cannot be erased by your tears. 

Then guard well your passions, be patient and mild— 

'Tis the least that a mother expects from her child, 



44 TO MY SISTER IN CALIFORNIA. 



TO MY SISTER IN CALIFORNIA 

THOU art far away, my sister, 
And we miss thee when we meet 
Together, as when thou wert here. 

To hold communion sweet; 
We miss thee, and another one — 

Two seats are vacant now. 
For. one has had the seal of 'death 
Stamp'd on her angel brow. 

Two months ago, two little months. 

The music of her voice 
Would make the dullest eye light up, 

The saddest heart rejoice; 
But now 'tis hush'd for aye in death, 

Her frame lies 'neath the sod, 
And her sweet voice has join'd the choir 

Around the throne of God. 

And our dear mother ! oh ! how well 

She bears the heavy blow: 
A heavenly, calm serenity 

Seems mingled with her woe ; 
She merely says, "■ So pass away 

My children, one by one ; 
Still, I must humbly kiss the rod — 

Father, thy will be done ! " 



TO MY SISTER IN CALIFORNIA. 

O darling sister ! how my soul 

Is melted into tears, 
As memory takes me back again 

To those thrice happy years 
When a/l our flock were gather'd round 

Our happy, cheerful hearth, 
And not a care was mino:led with 



45 



^iD' 



Our ever-rising mirth. 



Now some are dead, and some, like you, 

Have wander'd far away. 
And we have only memory's voice 

To cheer us, day by day; 
Yet still we hug the darling hope — 

God grant it be not vain 1 
That we shall one day hail the stray'd 

Around our hearth again. 



Oh ! well do I remember now 

Your every word and look 
When, bow'd in silent agony. 

Our last farewell we took ; 
My quivering lip and stammering tongue 

No solace could impart, 
For oh ! a fearful storm of grief 

Was swelling in my heart. 

Then every loving word of thine. 

And every action kind. 
With tenfold force came thronging back 

Upon my anguish'd mind. 



46 THE WILLOW. 

As memory clings to joys that fly 

And leave the heart forlorn, 
So those we love while at our side 
Seem dearer when they're gone. 

Best, kindest sister, years may roll 

Ere we again can meet, 
But thou art in my heart of hearts, 

While memory holds her seat! 
Speed swiftly, time, increase thy pace 

Till the last hour has flown 
That keeps my sister's anxious breast 

From throbbing 'gainst my own. 



THE WILLOW. 

I LOVE the lofty poplar 
And the tall, majestic pine, 
I love the sturdy oak, round which 

The creeping ivies twine. 
I love the generous trees that yield 

Kind nature's bounteous store. 
But, though it has a mournful look, 
I love the willow more. 

'Tis not because the cares of life 
Have steep'd my soul in woe 

That I dearly love to gaze upon 
Its branches waving low. 



THE WILLOW. ' 

No, 'tis not that ; for while I gaze 

It calls up to my view 
The sweetest, brightest, gayest hours 

My boyhood ever knew. 

'Twas underneath a willow tree, 

Beside a running stream. 
Where I in childhood, tired out, 

Had many a sweet day-dream 
About dear Minnie Morrison, 

Who often play'd with me. 
And whose bright face and sunny curls 

I even now can see. 

glorious Minnie Morrison ! 
Full thirty years have fled 

Since then, and you, perhaps, may now 

Be sleeping with the dead. 
But if you still are on the earth, 
Wherever you may be, 

1 know that in your reveries 

You sometimes think of me. 

O willow ! dear old willow, 

Where are the friends who play'd 
With me in happy childhood 

Beneath thy cooling shade } 
Some dead, and some have wander'd, 

Some remember me no more. 
But thou hast still the same kind look 

That greeted me of yore. 



47 



48 ALL BORN IN OCTOBER. 



ALL BORN IN OCTOBER. 

AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO F. S. STREET. 

FATHER, mother, and children three, 
All members of one family, 
A curious thing indeed to see — 
All born in sad October. 

No birthday record do they need; 
If they the year and day but heed, 
The month is very plain indeed — 
For each it is October. 

All came when leaves were brown and sere, 
And nature's face was dark and drear, 
The saddest season of the year — 
The month of brown October. 

But may no envious autumn come 
To cast a shadow on their home, 
And may their lives be sunshine from 
October to October. 

Around the white throne may they stand, 
A still united, happy band. 
When they have reach'd the "better land," 
Where there is no October. 

Father, mother, and children three, 
All members of one family, 
A curious thing indeed to see — 
All born in sad October. 



LET US CLING TO THOSE WHO LOVE US. 49 



LET us CLING TO THOSE WHO 
LOVE US. 

LET us cling to those who love us, 
And pity those who hate — 
God's smile is still above us, 

Whatever our estate. 
If loved ones fly before us, 

And those who hate betray, 
God's mercy still is o'er us 

On sorrow's darkest day. 
Then let's cling to those who love us, 

And pity those who hate — 
God's smile is still above us, 

Whatever our estate. 

The love that in an hour 

Will plume its wings and fly 
Elsewhere to try its power. 

Is hardly worth a sigh. 
The hate that would annoy us 

Is only worth a smile — 
It never can destroy us, 

For Heaven rules the while. 
Then let's cling to those who love us, 

And pity those who hate — 
God's smile is still above us, 

Whatever our estate. 

This life is but a bubble — 

'Tis ended in a day; 
Then let us laugh at trouble. 

And drive our cares away. 

D 



50 COME TO ME, DARLING. 

The world has many a sorrow, 

But many a pleasure, too; 
If sad to-day, to-morrow 

May bring great joy to you. 
Then let's cling to those who love us, 

And pity those who hate — 
God's smile is still above us. 

Whatever our estate. 



COME TO ME, DARLING. 

WHEN the red sun in the clear west is glowing, 
And the soft wind from the sweet south is blowing 
When the day's trials no longer are near me. 
Come to me, darling, to soothe and to cheer me ! 

Thou art the sun that dispels my sad hours — 
Sweeter thy breath than the odor of flowers — 
Only thy smile can my sombre life brighten; 
Come to me, darling, my sad heart to lighten. 

You, when life's bitterness caused me to languish. 
Rose like a star on the night of my anguish : 
Nothing in life like thy dear presence blesses; 
Come to me, darling, and meet my caresses. 

Come joy or sorrow, I'll part from thee never — 
Close to my bosom I'll press thee forever — • 
My heart is love's fountain laid open before thee ; 
Come to me, darling, and let it flow o'er thee. 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 



BEAUTY. 

WHAT is it we call beauty? 
Who can the word explain ? 
The learned lexicographer 
Essays the task in vain. 
There's beauty underneath the sea, 

On earth, and in the air, 
And in the firmament above — 
There's beauty everywhere. 

There s beauty in the flowers 

That decorate the sod. 
And in the bright-wing'd birds that send 

Their glad songs up to God; 
And in the lovely rainbow, 

And in the stars that shine, 
And in the crystals and the gems 

Which glitter in the mine. 

There's beauty in the murm'ring stream 

That seaward softly glides, 
And in the herds who lave therein 

And quaff its cooling tides ; 
And in the graceful blue-wing'd fly 

That sports above the spray. 
And in the nimble spotted trout 

Which claims him for its prey. 

(53) 



54 



BEAUTY, 

There's beauty in the human voice, 

And in the human face, 
And in the quick, elastic step. 

And in the form of grace — 
But these are finite beauties — 

They are under time's control — 
The only lasting beauty 

Is the beauty of the soul. 

The soul — the grand, mysterious soul — 

Which cannot taste of death, 
Because it is a part of God — 

His breath — His mighty breath! 
It bears the stamp of paradise ! 

It's home is in the sky ! 
It's beauty is eternal, 

And all other beauties die ! 

There's not a pauper walks the earth 

But carries in his soul 
A spark of the Divinity 

Which earth cannot control. 
And in that spark a beauty dwells 

Which cannot pass away — 
A beauty which through sorrow's night 

Shall find eternal day. 

Remember, 'mid your pomp and show, 
Ye proud ones of the earth, 

The grandest of all beauty came 
To light when man had birth. 

There's not a wretch, however poor 
Or faulty he may be. 



LAUGHTER AND TEARS. 

But carries in his breast a spark 
Of the divinity. 

Then aid your erring fellow-worm ! 

Be not too prone to blame; 
But strive to fan this spark divine 

Into a living flame ! 
There's not a soul so dark and vile 

But has some ray of good, 
Which may be magnified if touch'd 

By glorious brotherhood. 



55 



LAUGHTER AND TEARS. 

HOW sombre is that countenance 
- Which laughter visits not ! 
'Tis like a gloomy, desert waste 

Without a pleasant spot. 
It glares like some vile spectre 

On the sunny face of joy. 
And haunts the mirthful, social group 
To poison and annoy. 

The plainest face if wreathed in smiles 

Attractive will appear — 
The laugh which wells up from the heart 

Is music to the ear. 



^6 LAUGHTER AND TEARS. 

That mirth should light the human face 

Is part of Heaven's plan. 
God has denied this boon to brutes — 

No creature laughs but man. 

And tears which from the bursting heart 

Spring to the burning eyes, 
Are, viewed by calm philosophy, 

But blessings in disguise. 
When the corroding ills of life 

Cause every sense to ache, 
If it were not for blessed tears 

The tortured heart would break. 

Then flow on gently, soothing tears ! 

' Ring out, oh, joyous laughter! 
We cannot live without ye here, 

Whate'er our fate hereafter. 
Smiles are the sunbeams of the soul, 

When earthly cares oppress it, 
And tears, when anguish comes, the dew 

To nourish and refresh it, 

Then let us laugh and weep by turns, 

As fate may shape our hours. 
For smiles and tears are to the soul 

As sun and rain to flowers. 
Laugh when you can — weep when you must- 

And you will feel the better — 
He makes a sad mistake indeed 

Who nature strives to fetter. 



SINNING AND SUFFERING, 



57 



SINNING AND SUFFERING. 

WHEN you see an erring brother 
Cursed by some besetting sin, 
Stifling every better feeling, 

Making hideous all within. 
Pause before you frown upon him 

Or a word of censure say, 
Recollect that it is written 

"Hard is the transgressor's way." 

You would check your rising anger, 

And you would more patient be 
With a heart that sins and suffers 

Could you read its history. 
Could you know its fierce temptation 

When assail'd by passions strong, 
You would pity the offender 

E'en while you condemn'd the wrong. 

Heart enthrall'd by sin and sorrow, 

Sick with doubts and thrill'd by fears- 
All thy transient, dear-bought pleasures 

Follow'd fast by bitter tears. 
Trembling at the wild, weird fancies 

That encompass thee about, 
With the dread forever present 

That " thy sins will find thee out." 



58 OLD TOWSER, 

No kind friend to vsoothe and cheer thee — 

Loving few and trusting none — 
Even in thy gayest hours 

Conscience urging thee to run. 
Feverish hope, unbless'd, dekisive, 

Flying ere 'tis half conceived, 
Want's dread pangs, self-condemnation, 

The cold world's frown and loved ones grieved. 

When I see a heart thus writhing 

In its sin-bought misery, 
I deplore the faults that rule it, 

But it moves my charity. 
No wild, reckless child of passion 

Can escape the chastening rod — 
Life to such is only torture — 

Man's less merciful than God. 



OLD TOWSER. 



COME here, old Towser— faithful still, 
In clear or stormy weather — 
And lay thy head upon my knee. 

And let us chat together! 
Lift up your honest eyes to mine 

And list to what I'm saying! 
Sit very still, old dog, for I 
Am in no mood for playing. 



OLD TOWSER, 59 

You stole a bone the other day! 

Oh ! you were hungry, were you ? 
Well, don't repeat the act again 

And this time I will spare you. 
But how about the fight you had 

With Uncle Billy's Rover? 
I saw you when you ran at him 

In yonder field of clover. 

And then, how dared you tear the clothes 

Hung up by Mrs. Hewitt } 
Oh ! you were playing then, were you, 

And didn't mean to do it 1 
I fear you're growing naughty, dog — 

Much trouble you have made me — 
But, then, with all your faults, old friend, 

You never have betray'd me. 

And I can't say as much for some 

Who boast of human learning, 
And who have larger brains than thine 

To aid their keen discerning — 
Who hide their faces in a mask — 

Who hate while they're beguiling — : 
Who fawn and flatter to deceive, 

And murder while they're smiling. 

And base ingratitude, old boy, 

You ne'er was guilty of it — 
Dog as you are, with all your faults. 

You have a soul above it. 
But I've known some of human kind 

Who'd frown on those that bless'd them, 



6o TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 

And pitilessly sting the hand 

That nourish'd and caress'd them. 

Old dog, why do you shake your head, 

And squirm about, and wink so? 
You think I'm slandering~"my race? 

I wish I too could think so. 
I do not say that all are bad — 

Indeed, I think that few are — 
But I reiterate that dogs 

To friendship always true are. 

No doubt you're full of passions strong, 

And when temptation meets you, 
• You're like the stern self-righteous man 

Who villifies and beats you. 
You'll stop to taste forbidden fruits, 

E'en though it brings disaster; 
But, unlike man, you'll never prove 

A traitor to your master. 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 

'^ I ^WAS twilight — the bright-plumaged birds were at 

JL rest. 

And the sun in his glory had sunk in the west. 
All labor had ceased, and the whippoorwill's song 
Like a dirge from the forest came wailing along. 



TWILIGHT MUSINGS. 6 1 

A maiden sat watching with wondering eye 
The many-hued cloudlets that skirted the sky, 
Which seem'd, as they varied their colors, design'd 
To furnish a type of the changeable mind. 

As she gazed, twilight call'd forth the fair stars of even, 
To light with their lustre the blue vault of heaven. 
And soon like a host in their silvery sheen. 
The pure lamps in ether were twinkling seen. 

They spangled the heavens in dazzling array, 
And night drove the sober-brow'd twilight away; 
But still the young maiden in rapture gazed there, 
" O night ! " she exclaim'd, *' thou art wondrously fair." 

But e'en as she spoke, a low murmuring plaint 
Came, mildly at first, as the sigh of a saint ; 
Then swiftly the storm-king arose on the air, 
And left but one bright star to radiate there. 

" Alas ! " cried the maid, " 'tis a picture of life ! 
How often is happiness turn'd into strife! 
Bright prospects may light us awhile, but how soon 
May frowning misfortune make night of our noon ! 

''Yet, though grief wring the bosom and tears dim the 

eye, 
One bright star at least shall illumine life's sky ; 
For wretched indeed must that pilgrim be 
Who cannot one pure ray of blessed hope see ! " 



62 SJVOIV FLAKES, 



SNOW FLAKES. 

I AM looking from my window 
At the softly-falling snow, 
And watching its still passage 
To the frozen earth below; 
And I'm thinking of the thousands 

Who will hail it with delight, 
And of the tens of thousands 
Whose comfort it will blight. 

I mark the flakes descending — 

How grand to contemplate I 
A myriad tiny feathers, 

Each distinctly separate! 
I single from among them 

The largest I can see, 
And in its devious windings 

I trace it easily. 

And thus I learn, while musing, 

A lesson from the sky: 
The flakes, like human beings. 

Are born to fall and die; 
Each takes a common pathway 

As they to earth descend; 
They have a common origin. 

And meet a common end. 



MAN'S INGRATITUDE. 63 

The greatest, though conspicuous 

While Hving, still must die, 
And with the least in one low bed 

At last must surely lie. 
Be humble then, proud mortal, 

Nor vaunt your high estate — 
Death sees no difference between 

The lowly and the great. 



MAN'S INGRATITUDE. 

WHEN at the close of sultry day 
The wild-flowers on the plain. 
All heated, cover'd o'er with dust 

And perishing for rain, 
Imbibe the gently falling dew 

Which gems the emerald sod, 
They meekly bow their pretty heads 
In gratitude to God. 

And so the bright-wing'd, joyous birds — 

Those warblers of the wood — 
Seem thankful for each blessing 

That descends from the All-Good. 
And ever in the early morn 

Their cheerful notes they raise. 
And send to Heaven their happy songs 

Of gratitude and praise. 



64 THE FIENDS OF DISCORD. 

But man — vain, haughty, selfish man 

Is never quite content, 
He takes, without a thought of debt, 

Each daily blessing sent. 
And as the dew of mercy falls 

To bless each fond desire, 
Instead of bowing low his head 

He raises it the higher. 

Then pause, proud man, a moment, 

And raise your eyes above. 
And ask yourself what you have done 

To merit God's great love. 
Then walk abroad with Nature 

When come your leisure hours. 
And take a wholesome lesson from 

The beauteous birds and flowers. 



THE FIENDS OF DISCORD 

WHO are the fiends of discord.^ 
Spleen, envy, malice, hate — • 
They lurk within the human heart 

To poison man's estate. 
With closest circumspection 

They watch each little thing, 
And when advantage offers 
They are ready for a spring. 



THE FIENDS OF DISCORD, 65 

Oh, watch them well, ye thoughtless, 

Whene'er the heart is stirr'd — 
Be careful of each motion, 

Each look, each thought, each word. 
For, once aroused to action, 

You'll battle them in vain, 
And lose, perhaps, that quiet 

You may never know again. 

A harsh word when you're speeding 

To business away 
May make some heart despondent 

Throughout the livelong day. 
A frown — a thoughtless action — 

A gesture to annoy, 
May wake the fiends of discord 

To banish every joy. 

Be loving, kind and gentle 

As you journey on through life. 
And shun the thorny pathway 

That leads to hate and strife. 
Misfortune may o'ertake you 

But you can bear its smart. 
If you keep the fiends of discord 

From warring in your heart. 



66 THERE S SOMETHING WORSE THAN DEATH. 



THERE'S SOMETHING WORSE THAN 
DEATH. 

OH, mourning husband, bending o'er 
The ashes of thy wife. 
Who, dying seem'd to take with her 

A portion of thy Hfe ; 
It was decreed that tears must flow 

When first the world began, 
But bear it hke a Christian, 
While you feed it as a man. 

Bewail thy first-born's early flight 

Thou broken-hearted mother; 
And sister weep in anguish for 

Thy darling baby brother ; 
And father, mourn, when thy dear son 

Yields up his latest breath, 
But in thy grief remember still 

There's something worse than death. 

It is to live to see the brand 

Of sorrow and disgrace, 
Mark'd by the ministers of sin 

Upon the loved one's face. 
Our idols may be safe to-day — 

Their future who can tell } 
Then let us meekly bow to Him 

**Who doeth all things well." 



TIME. 



67 



TIME. 

FATHER TIME is sweeping onward, 
Scythe and hour-glass in hand; 
Nothing can obstruct his pathway, 

Nothing can his force withstand. 
Now he blurs the cheek of beauty — 

Now he renders weak the strong — 
And he cuts down all before him 
As he swiftly glides along. 

And he seems a grim old tyrant, 

Stern-brow'd, merciless and cold, 
Shaking mildew from his pinions 

On all things of human mold. 
Making every pleasure short-lived. 

Touching love with his alloy. 
Blasting with his sour visage 

Every bud of human joy. 

Yet, methinks, if thoughtless mortals 

Would but read his visage right. 
They would come to the conclusion 

That he is not ruled by spite. 
True, he sides with Death at present. 

But he loves him none the more, 
And in the far-distant future 

He will be Death's conqueror. 



68 BEWARE OF HIM. 

Then give Time the praise that's due him- 

He his mission must fulfil, 
And he'll use you very gently 

If you do not treat him ill. 
If you're free from dissipation, 

And with vice no dealings have. 
He will give you health and comfort 

From the cradle to the grave. 



BEWARE OF HIM. 



BEWARE of the man with a countenance bland 
And a tongue with a silvery tone, 
Who freely his counsel will give you off hand, 

As though your best good were his own. 
Who though an acquaintance of only a day. 

In his friendship excels any other. 
And who in his zeal for your welfare will pray 
While he sticks to you close as a brother. 

He will enter your house with an elegant grace 

And a countenance sweet and benign. 
And you're almost inclined as you look in his face 

To think him scarce less than divine. 
He flatters each one of your home circle dear, 

From the babe to the grandsire gray, 
And little you dream when his praises you hear 

That he's wondering how it will pay. 



STRUGGLING CUBA. 69 

How harmless the snake, in your innocent eyes, 

As slowly his length he uncoils, 
Till he strikes, and alas, to your utter surprise, 

You find yourself fast in his toils ! 
Then greatly you wonder while writhing with pain 

From the subtle destroyer's foul blow, 
How a monster so poisonous, puerile and vain. 

Could have hoodwink'd and wounded you so. 

Beware of sweet talkers unless you are sure 

That their language comes straight from the heart — 
Praise from a true friend, who is artless and pure. 

Can have no appearance of art. 
And better the tone of the blunt and the gruff 

Whom oft in .life's journey we meet, 
Than the musical, sweet, hypocritical stuff 

That comes forth in the tone of deceit. 



STRUGGLING CUBA. 

OH, spirits of the brave and just. 
Ye millions who have died 
While fighting for sweet liberty 
'Gainst arrogance and pride, 
If ye can aid a patriot band 

Determined to be free, 
Then nerve those who are fighting now 
For Cuba's liberty. 



yO STRUGGLING CUBA. 

On servile pens let fall thy power, 

And paralyze the school 
That prates of Spain's supremacy, 

And advocates her rule. 
Be with the patriots in this strife 

Till victory is won, 
And war's dark clouds are chased away 

By liberty's bright sun. 

And on the rulers of this land 

Thy subtle influence pour — 
Let them remember how we strove 

To burst the chains we wore 
When England held us in her grasp 

And treated us with scorn, 
Till blood was shed at Lexington 

And liberty was born. 

Now Cuba fights as once we fought. 

To free her native land, 
And should not fair Columbia 

Extend a helping hand t 
Down with ignoble selfishness ! 

Speak boldly for the right ! 
At every pore brave Cuba bleeds. 

Oh, help her in the fight ! 

Oh, speak for her, Columbia ! — 
That surely is not much — 

Proclaim her sons belligerents. 
And deal with them as such. 

Then will the monsters whose dark deeds 
Sathanus might appall. 



FIGHT WHEN YOU MUST. 71 

Cry out with fear as they perceive 
"The writing on the wall." 

Then will the ruthless butchers feel 

The vengeance of the brave — 
The voice of doom will issue from 

Each murder'd student's grave, 
And soon demoralized and lost 

The miscreants will flee, 
And hurry back disgraced to Spain, 

And Cuba will be free ! 

Oh, glorious hope ! oh, blessed day ! 

Oh, solace for the brave! 
A nation sworn to liberty ! 

A land without a slave! 
Oh, God of battles speed the day 

So glorious and so grand, 
When one more hope shall animate 

The slaves of every land. 



FIGHT WHEN YOU MUST. 

DEDICATED TO THE CUBAN ARMY. 

PEACE ! Sweet peace ! Thou white-wing'd seraph. 
We would ever have thee near, 
For thou art the priest of order 
To humanity most dear. 



72 FIGHT WHEN YOU MUST, 

But when tyrants clothed with power 
Crush their fellow-worms to dust, 

We must raise on high the motto — 

" Ye are wrong'd ! Fight when ye must ! " 

Peace is lovely— peace is holy 

When it dwells 'neath freedom's light, 
But when wrong uprears her standard 

Men must battle for the right. 
Peace must fly and war must flourish 

When the vile would rule the just — 
Strife, when waged for human progress. 

Virtue is — fight when you must. 

Just resistance is a warrior 

' Who goes forth with will uncurb'd 
Conquering, that Peace may triumph 

And reign o'er us undisturb'd. 
But for strife, throughout the ages 

Dark with ignorance and lust. 
What would now be man's condition ? 

Sad, indeed! Fight when ye must! 

Peace is sweet, when back'd by Justice — 

Unjust war must bitter be — 
Peace is bitter under tyrants — 

War is sweet for Liberty. 
Then when men groan 'neath oppression, 

Battle must their wrongs adjust — 
Peace is sweet when kept with honor — 

Not without — fight when ye must. 



ODE TO POVERTY. 73 



ODE TO POVERTY. 

OH, Poverty, twin brother to Despair! 
Thou source of woe ! Thou summoner of care ! 
Dreadful task-master ! author of misery ! 
What tongue can say one word in praise of thee ? 
Like a grim fiend of diaboHc birth 
You sit beside the honest toiler's hearth. 
To mock him with your presence and to see 
His wife's distress and his deep agony. 

Ruthless you send your keen, envenom'd dart 
With cruel aim into the proud man's heart — 
High-toned, well-bred, retiring and genteel. 
Too sensitive to beg, too virtuous to steal — 
Reckless he hides away from human ken 
And wrestles with you in his wretched den. 
Till famish'd by your frame-destroying breath 
He sinks at last and yields himself to death. 

Your skull and cross-bones banner you unfurl 
Before the weary, heart crush'd working girl. 
You throw your icy fetters round her heart, 
Unmindful of the bitter tears that start — 
You see temptation near her and you cry: 
" I have no mercy — you must sin or die ! " 
And should she follow guilty pleasure's train. 
All hope is gone — she'll ne'er know peace again. 



74 ODE TO POVERTY. 

A few brief months of dissipation o'er, 
A prey to thoughts she never knew before, 
No power to stem sin's swiftly-rushing tide, 
She ends her sad career by suicide. 

Such work as this, oh. Poverty is thine, 
Yet in thy presence man should not repine, 
For sometimes (all with Shakspeare must agree) 
" Sweet are the uses of adversity." 

And ere I send my tired muse away 
I e'en for Poverty a good word will say: 
There's many a genius, it must be confess'd. 
Who at the start by Poverty was bless'd. 
Who would have idled had he been born rich, 
Wasted his means and perish'd in a ditch, 
But who, when want aroused ambition's flame, 
Strain'd every nerve to capture wealth and fame, 
And who, while struggling for the foremost place, 
Developed some new fact to bless his race. 

Many rich blessings that we daily meet. 
Many inventions priceless and complete. 
Both on the land and on the boundless sea. 
Ne'er had existed but for Poverty. 
And thus 'tis patent to the truly wise 
That evils oft are blessings in disguise. 



MV IDEAL DAY, 75 



MY IDEAL DAY. 

ON flies Time, while joy and sorrow 
Greet each never-ending morrow — 
Success and failure, hope and fear, 
Clouds and sunshine mingle here. 

Day breaks — we're aglow with pleasure — 
Night comes — grief we cannot measure ; 
Now the banquet, now the grave, 
Each crowds each like wave on wave. 

Now my soul is sick with sadness — 
Now my heart is full of gladness — 
Now would I contented die — 
Now cling to earth eternally. 

Such are life's components real, 
But I have a blest ideal. 
I am dreaming of the dawning 
Of a bright and glorious morning. 

When all passions shall be ended. 
And all faults shall be amended — 
When man shall be pure indeed — 
Love the law and truth the creed. 

When the phantoms that pursue us, 
Seeking ever to undo us. 
Shall forever take their flight 
To the realms of endless night. 



76 A FEW THOUGHTS. 

When each gross and weak desire 
Shall be purged by Heavenly fire — 
When all evil thoughts will fly us, 
And temptation cannot try us. 

This the Heavenly sunburst beaming, 
Touch'd with glory in my dreaming — 
This my cherish'd ideal day, 
When earth shall have pass'd away. 

Oh, poor hearts with sorrow laden, 
Only in the distant Aiden, 
With a spirit newly born. 
Shall ye find my ideal morn. 



A FEW THOUGHTS. 

T THINK a disposition that is happy and resign'd 
Adds greatly to the comfort and the health of human 
kind. 
I think a sour temper and a bosom fiU'd with spite 
Brings trouble, and puts every sign of happiness to flight. 
I think no individual, however high his station, 
E'er gain'd the praise of worthy men by vice and dissi- 
pation. 
I think no dainty dandy, while for ladies favors sueing, 
E'er added perfume to his breath by smokirjg or by 
chewing. 



A FEW THOUGHTS, 77 

I think that wicked cunning never met with much success. 
I think if swindlers sufFer'd more their number would be 

less. 
I think if meddling gossips would cease to spy and talk, 
That lawyers would be fewer and courts would have less 

work. 
I think that many doctors would better blacksmiths make. 
I think that clerks who gamble have more than gold at 

stake. 
I think a man who marries, if he gets a proper mate, 
Secures a fortune, though the bride may own no real 

estate. 
I think if certain folks would let some other folks alone, 
They'd find more leisure to attend to business of their 

own. 
I think when stingy rich men chance from fortune's height 

to tumble. 
And meet with little sympathy, they have no right to 

grumble. 
I think that many ministers, renown'd for fluent speech, 
Would more consistent be if they would practice what 

they preach. 
I think that true religion, when the tempter tries his art. 
Throws a shield of triple power around the wavering 

heart. 
I think that every soul that sins will meet with suffering. 
Whether that soul belongeth to a peasant or a king. 
I think all grades of people, from the monarch to the 

slave, 
Are fashion'd from one common clay and equal in the 

grave. 



78 " WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT: 



'WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHT." 

DISTURB'D in mind, and rack'd by pain, 
In solitude I sit, 
A victim to the sombre thoughts 

That through my fancy flit ; 
I'm thinking of the thousand ills 
That human pleasures blight ; 
Yet through my musing runs this truth, 
** Whatever is, is right." 

I see the honest toiler steep'd 

In poverty and woe. 
While past him struts the guilty wretch, 

Whose coffers overflow. 
I see beneath religion cloak'd 

Foul passions black as night; 
Yet in my heart I feel the truth, 

"Whatever is, is right." 

I've seen the trembling culprit 

A justice stand before. 
And heard the doom which foUow'd 

An infringement of the law ; 
I knew the stern-brow'd magistrate 

Was vile in Heaven's sight; 
And yet I whisper'd to myself, 

"Whatever is, is right." 



" WHATEVER IS, IS RIGHTr 79 

The Great, All-wise, Omnipotent, 

Who sends the gentle dew 
To bless and fructify the earth. 

Sends hail and tempest too. 
Behind the lowering, angry clouds 

The sun is shining bright. 
And we must take them in their turn — 

"Whatever is^ is right." 

I would not be misunderstood — 

I take no skeptic view, 
I feel that I'm responsible 

For all which I may do. 
But He who fashion'd me in love. 

Will judge me not in spite. 
But pity while he punishes — 

^* Whatever is, is right." 

When passions slumbering in my soul, 

By fate to flame are fann'd, 
He knows what my temptation is. 

How much I can withstand. 
And if I fall while struggling, 

Or conquer in the fight. 
He'll deal with me as I deserve — 

"Whatever is, is right." 

The world is full of good and ill, 

And it is better so ; 
For if we never suffer'd pain. 

How could we pleasure know.? 
We should not prize the glorious sun 

If 'twere not for the night. 



80 HAVE CHARITY. 

And love shows best opposed to hate — 
"Whatever is, is right." 

And if the All-wise wills that I 

Should sorrow's chalice drain — 
If he should change my hours of bliss 

To misery and pain — 
Nay, should he choose to plunge my soul 

In realms of endless night, 
I still should trust him, for I know 

"Whatever is, is right." 

Then let us take the good and ill, 

. Contented still to know 
That greatest blessings often 
From severest trials flow. 
And if we sometimes faint and fall 

Beneath temptation's might, 
God's mercy still envelopes us — 
* Whatever is^ is right." 



HAVE CHARITY. 

THROUGH the great sin-blasted city 
Toils a homeless little one, 
Not a friend to soothe or pity, 
Not a bed to lie upon; 



HAVE CHARITY, 8f 

Ragged, dirty, bruised, and bleeding. 

Subject still to kick and curse, 
School'd in sin and sadly needing 

Aid from Christian tongue and purse. 

But the rich and gay pass by her, 

Full of vanity and pride, 
And a pittance they deny her, 

As they pull their skirts aside. 
Then a sullen mood comes o'er her, 

Reckless she of woe or weal. 
Death from hunger is before her — 

She must either starve or steal. 

She does steal; and who can blame her? 

Hunger-pangs her vitals gnaw, 
None endeavors to reclaim her 

And she violates the law. 
Then the pamper'd child of fashion, 

Who refused to give relief. 
Cries, with well-affected passion, 

"Out upon the little thief!" 

Censors full of world-wise schoolins:. 

Cease to censure and deplore; 
When the girl transgress'd man's ruling. 

She obeyed a higher law, 
Take her place, feel her temptation — 

Starved, unhoused, no succor nigh — 
And, though sure of reprobation. 

Ye would steal ere ye would die! 



82 THE TWO SLEEPERS. 



THE TWO SLEEPERS. 

AN old man sat in his easy-chair, 
Where he had sat before, . 
Day after day, at eventide, 

For years at least a score. 
The Bible open on his lap, 
A smile upon his face — 
And round his brow a halo shone. 
Evolved by inward grace. 

He heeded not the little one 

Who sported round his knee, 
And twitch'd the tassel of his gown, 

And shouted out with glee 
** Come, grandpa, put your book away — 

'Tis nine o'clock you know. 
And you must play awhile with me, 

Before to bed you go. 

"What! won't you play.^" the child went on 

With disappointed air; 
" You said you would at nine o'clock — 

Grandpa, that isn't fair ! 
But never mind — you're tired perhaps — 

And I'm a saucy thing — 
So sit you still, and I your pipe 

Will from the mantel bring ! " 



THE TWO SLEEPERS. 83 

And yet the good old man stirr'd not, 

Nor look'd he at the child, 
Who laid her head upon his book, 

Gazed up at him and smiled ; 
And then she pouted pettishly. 

And then began to weep, 
And then, tired out, her eyelids closed, 

And she fell fast asleep. 

And thus they slumber'd tranquilly, 

The grandsire and the child ; 
And as they slept, it seem'd as if 

They on each other smiled. 
But while the red-cheek'd joyous child 

The sleep of health was taking, 
The old man was reposing in 

The sleep that knows no waking. 

He had pass'd away e'en while he dwelt 

Upon the sacred story, 
And left this sin-embitter'd life 

For one of brightest glory. 
O picture rare ! O lesson stern ! 

For heedless man intended — 
The wee child starting on the voyage 

The grandsire old had ended. 



84 A WORD IN ANGER SPOKEN. 



A WORD IN ANGER SPOKEN. 

A WORD in anger spoken — 
How often does it prove 
The cause of cold indifference 

In hearts whose rule is love! 
How oft the swetest pleasures 

Humanity can know 
Are by a harsh expression 
Turn'd into bitter woe ! 

A word in anger spoken — 

How many sighs, and tears, 
And sleepless nights, and cheerless days, 

And weary, weary years. 
Have been its mournful product, 

Though charity essay'd 
To heal the deadly, festering wound 

Which thoughtless anger made ! 

A word in anger spoken — 

A blot upon life's page 
Which oft will leave its impress 

From youth to latest age. 
Man may forgive an insult; 

But still it bears its fruit. 
For memory is a tyrant 

Whose rule is absolute. 



A WORD IN ANGER SPOKEN. 85 

A word in anger spoken 

Has oft engendered strife 
Between the loving husband 

And the doting, trusting wife; 
Has caused a barrier to rise 

Between the child and mother, 
And led foul enmity to part 

The sister and the brother. 

A word in anger spoken — 

If you have felt its blight, 
Resolve henceforth to " know thyself," 

And train thy spirit right. 
Keep watch upon thy every thought, 

Thy every look and word. 
And thou shalt live from sorrow free, 

As joyous as a bird. 

A word in anger spoken — 

Oh! weigh the sentence well; 
For it contains a lesson 

That words are vain to tell. 
The human heart is faulty, 

And the wisest of us all 
May drop a careless word in wrath, 

That we would fain recall. 



86 THE POOR MAN'S SONG, 



THE POOR MAN'S SONG. 

I LIVE in a garret, but what do I care ? 
I'm safer than some of my great neighbors are 
The loss of my wealth I'm not troubled about, 
And my diet will certainly keep off the gout. 
Then a truce to all grumbling, for happen what may, 
While I've health, I'll be happy by night and by day, 

There's old Mr. Graball, whose dwelling's hard by. 
At the loss of a dollar is ready to cry ; 
And yet I'll be bound that the old fellow's dimes 
Outnumber, by far, his quintillion of crimes. 
Then a truce to all grumbling, the morsel I eat 
Is honestly gotten, and wholesome, and sweet. 

Then there's Mr. Freeliver, over the way, 

Who groans with dyspepsia, day after day; 

If Nature permitted, how quickly would he 

Be willing to barter conditions with me.^ 

Then a truce to all grumbling, for champagne, 'tis clear, 

Is not so conducive to health as small-beer. 

Give me but the power to labor, and then 

As happy I'll be as the richest of men; 

And the evils committed in grasping for gold 

Can't trouble my conscience when I have grown old. 

Then a truce to all grumbling, for happen what may. 

While I've health, I'll be happy by night and by day. 



THE BOUQUET-GIRL. 8/ 



THE BOUQUET-GIRL. 

^^ "DOUQUETS!" like a mourning spirit's wail 

jL) Arose on the midnight air, 
From the lips of a girl whose features pale 

Were mark'd by grief and care. 
Her azure eyes were dim with tears, 

No purchaser she found ; 
And oh ! it seem'd the woe of years 

Was in that plaintive sound. 
Bouquets ! bouquets ! oh ! pray do buy, 

At home there is no bread; 
I hear my little brother's cry, 

And darling mother's dead ! 

" Bouquets ! " and the poor child's tired feet 

Touch'd wearily the ground, 
While the night wind through the lonely street 

Rush'd by with a moaning sound. 
" Bouquets ! " in a low, despairing tone. 

While onward still she crept. 
And then between a sigh and moan 

She sought a seat and slept. 
Bouquets! bouquets! oh! pray do buy, 

At home there is no bread; 
I hear my little brother's cry. 

And darling mother's dead. 



SS HEART-HUNGER, 



HEART-HUNGER. 

'^ I ^IS sweet to feel in this sad world of change, 

X Where selfishness and pride so much abound, 
That there is one, however wide we range, 

To greet us lovingly when home is found. 
One whom we know will faithful be till death, 

Whose heart-throbs play in concert with our own, 
Whose' love will bless us till our latest breath. 

To whose pure bosom falsehood is unknown. 

The famish'd wretch who droops his head with shame 

May be relieved by any passer-by; 
The ardent youth who hungers after fame 

Has always hope of feasting presently. 
But, oh! to feel that we are all alone. 

That love's sweet cup has vapor'd to the lees. 
That there is no heart we can call our own — 

This is a hunger nothing can appease. 

To wander on without a ray of hope. 

To find no respite even in our sleep, 
Life's sun extinguish'd, in the dark to grope, 

And hopeless through this weary world to creep ; 
No balm for us, no njedicine can cure — 

The ailing is beyond the reach of art — 
All other hunger strong men may eAdure, 

Except the weary, dreary hunger of the heart. 



THE WOUND MAY BE HEALED, ETC. 89 



THE WOUND MAY BE HEALED, BUT 
THE SCAR WILL REMAIN. 

OH, ye who from crime and pollution are free, 
Watch well the temptations that throng around 
thee! 
A character tarnish'd ne'er loses the stain — 
The wound may be heal'd, but the scar will remain. 

'Tis true that the vilest forgiveness may earn — 
The sorrowing lost to the fold may return ; 
But sad recollection will bring with it pain — 
The wound may be heal'd, but the scar will remain. 

The misty bloom brush'd from the cheek of the plum 
No more to its delicate surface can come ; 
And the pure heart polluted ne'er freshens again — 
The wound may be heal'd, but the scar will remain. 

The slave of vile appetites touch'd by remorse, 
May weep o'er his folhes and alter his course ; 
But still on life's Tablet his record is plain — 
The wound may be heal'd, but the scar will remain. 

Then shun ye the tempter, and seek ye the goal, 
Which promises peace to the world-weary soul. 
If ye sin ye will strive to forget it in vain — 
The wound may be heal'd, but the scar will remain. 



90 



TO HATE. 



TO HATE. 

THOU baleful, black-brow'd murderous thing 
Thou bane of human bliss ! 
Thou vampire fiend of sombre wing, 

Whose loathsome, lep'rous kiss 
Blisters the lip it meets, and turns 

Life's sweets to bitterest gall, 
And like a hungry fire burns 
In souls that own thy thrall. 

Thank God, I ne'er have known thee yet, 

Vile monster that thou art! 
Thou ne'er hast had and ne'er can get 

A lodgment in my heart. 
Though I were doom'd to feel the sting 

Of enmity's foul blow, 
I'd seek no shelter 'neath thy wing, 

Thou minister of woe. 

I can afford to pity thee, 

And all whose guide thou art; 
For no poor wretch from pain is free 

While thou dost rule his heart. 
I'd rather suffer from thy spite 

Than own thee as my friend ; 
For love, thy master, will delight 

When thou hast reach'd thine end. 



THE WAIL OF THE BETRAYED. 91 



THE WAIL OF THE BETRAYED 

COME, night, sad night, and let me hide 
My wretchedness in theel 
Nurse in thy gloom my woman's pride, 

My heart's deep agony ! 
Thy sombre shadows suit me well. 

My trouble and unrest 
Are suited to thy darksome spell — 
'Tis night within my breast. 

The flowers that bloom at early morn 

To some may beauteous be. 
But those that ope at night's approach 

Are dearer far to me. 
The first like sunshine friends may smile 

In fortune's happy light, 
The latter will our griefs beguile 

In sorrow's gloomy night. 

Though bright the glorious orb of day. 

It has no charm for me ; 
I would not have a single ray 

Shine on my misery. 
Like the crush'd flower upon the plain, 

Dust-cover'd from the sight. 
So would I hide my loathsome stain 

In everlasting night. 



92 SPOIL THE ROD AND SPARE THE CHILD. 

I love the dark-robed night, for she 

Shares all my bitter grief; 
She has a sigh in every breeze, 

A tear on every leaf; 
And while the moon looks sadly down, 

The stars shed, as they glow. 
A ray of sorrowing light that seems 

Like sympathetic woe. 



SPOIL THE ROD AND SPARE THE 
CHILD. 

MEN and women, Shakspeare tells us. 
Are but children larger grown ; 
This is true as truth can make it — 

Few are fit to run alone. 
Not an adult soul among us 

But some folly has beguiled ; 
Then when little ones are faulty. 
Spoil the rod and spare the child. 

Anger only wakens anger- — 

Love it is that rules the heart ; 
Force restrains, but does not conquer, 

Though the bitter tear may start. 
If you'd reach an erring bosom, 

Trust to reason and be mild. 
Give not way to brutal passion — 

Spoil the rod and spare the child. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 93 

If, with all his boasted knowledge, 

Man is changeable and weak, 
Can he, with a show of reason, 

Perfectness in childhood seek ? 
Oh ! then gently deal with children, 

If they wayward prove and wild, 
Love will bring them to submission — 

Spoil the rod and spare the child. 

Never yet did boy of spirit 

Feel the sharp lash to his gain ; 
If by love you cannot rule him 

You may lacerate in vain. 
Glorious, bright-eyed romping childhood 

By each harsh blow is defiled ; 
Oh ! then treat the darlings gently — 

Spoil the rod and spare the child. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

A MAIDEN who spent the weary hours 
In going from house to house with flowers, 
Stopp'd at a gorgeous mansion, where 
She spread to view her bouquets rare. 
Wan was her look and dim her eye, 
And as she mark'd the passers-by, 
Her youthful bosom seem'd to be 
The dwelling-place of misery. 

A lady from out the mansion came, 
A richly-costumed, pompous dame, 



94 THE DIFFERENCE. 

Whose look of vain and haughty pride 

The flower-vender terrified. 

She view'd the poor girl's bright-hued store, 

And turn'd the bouquets o'er and o'er, 

Then ask'd the price, demurr'd, and then 

In the rich mansion went again. 

The maiden, footsore, sad, and weak, 

Wiped oif the tear that gemm'd her cheek, 

And then again she pass'd along 

Amid the city's giddy throng. 

At length a bright-eyed working girl. 

With ringing laugh and sunny curl, 

Approach'd her, and in merry sport 

A bunch of her sweet flowers bought. 

But as the girl the money took, 
The buyer mark'd her wretched look, 
And kindly sought the cause to know 
Why her young heart was touch'd with woe. 
The girl replied, with tearful eyes, 
" At home my aged mother lies ; 
She's ill, alone, and should be nursed. 
But I must sell my flowers first." 

The shop-girl paused and heaved a sigh, 
A tear was in her clear blue eye ; 
She'd saved a sum to buy a shawl ; 
But ''Here!" she cried, 'Til take them all! 
My mother's dead, and doubtless she 
Is looking now from heaven at me. 
And she will smile — I know she will — 
To see me hug her precepts still." 



POEMS OF RELIGIOUS THOUGHT. 



HEAVEN. 

THE world is beautiful ; but I 
Can see in all beneath the sky, 
Proof that the Great Divinity 

Design'd that mortals, 
To taste of perfect bliss, must fly 
To heaven's portals. 

If not, why are our natures tried 

By longings all unsatisfied ? 

Why do our towers, rear'd with pride, 

Totter and fall } 
Why are the sweets on life's wayside 

Mingled with gall } 

Music and discord mingle here — 
The joyous laugh, the bitter tear, 
The sunshine and the storm-cloud drear, 

All in an hour, 
By turns will crush the heart or cheer — 

Such is earth's dower ! 

But there's a land beyond the sky 
Where hope within us cannot die. 
Where there is neither tear nor sigh, 

Nor strife, nor terror : 
Where all is peace and harmony, 

Unmix'd with error. 
^ (97) 



98 FAITH. 

There, bathed in light, we'll stand before 
The One who human sorrows bore ; 
Who, houseless, famish'dj sick, and sore. 

Was yet man's friend; 
And will be when this life is o'er, 

Time without end. 

r 

O glorious home ! O mansion blest ! 
Thou recompense for life's unrest ! 
Close to the Saviour's bosom prest, 

How sweet to be 
Loved, pitied, comforted, caress'd, 

Eternally 1 



FAITH. 

OTHOU ! who boldest in Thy mighty grasp 
The wide- spread waters of the boundless deep. 
Whose blessed smile is in the sunshine seen, 
Whose awful power awakes the fearful storm, 
Who scattereth o'er the mantle of the night 
The glittering gems that meet our upward gaze, 
Whose voice comes to us in the zephyr's breath. 
And greets us in the wild tornado's roar, 
Whose glorious handiwork o'er all the earth is seen 
In every plant that at thy bidding grows 
To please the eye or furnish needful food — 
In every bird that skims the ether blue, 
To charm the ravish'd ear with songs of praise — 



FAITH. 99 

In every beast that roams the forest wild, 

Or with meek patience toils for thankless man — 

Thou Infinite ! whose presence in all space is felt, 

At once mysterious, awful, grand, sublime, and beautiful, 

If I, a dying, worthless clod of earth. 

Might dare to lift an humble prayer to Thee, 

I'd ask that Thou wouldst teach me what I am, 

And save me from the touch of vanity and pride. 

Those twin fiends who, since the first angel fell. 

Have lured weak, yielding man to misery and woe. 

Save me, O Father ! from the skeptic tempter's power, 

Who with his specious reasoning would sap my faith — 

And since I cannot Thy dread essence analyze, 

And make Thee palpable to touch and sight. 

Let me adore Thee as a little child, 

Who cannot reason, but who yet can feel 

Thy presence when he kneels to Thee in prayer. 

I pray for faith, O Father ! Faith to feel 

That Thou art with me in this mortal strife — 

Faith to believe that if misfortune lays 

Her heavy hand on my devoted head, 

'Tis done for some wise end known but to Thee — 

Faith to believe if earthly friends desert, 

If loved and trusted ones fly from my side, 

That Thou wilt closer draw, and give that peace 

Which none here can bestow nor take away — 

Faith to perceive Thy hand in all that may befall. 

And to exclaim in reverence and love, 

"It is the Lord, and I am still content ! " 

O glorious faith ! O sweet and heavenly trust ! . 

Be with me to the end, and bear my soul. 

In confidence and peace to its eternal home ! 



lOO TO A SKULL IN OUR SANCTUM. 



TO A SKULL IN OUR SANCTUM. 

THOU loathsome, grinning, hideous thing, 
So terrible to view — 
Reminder of the dread, grim king ! 

Is't possible that you 
Once talk'd, and sang, and laugh'd with glee, 
As I do sometimes now, 
- With signs of pain and ecstacy 
By turns upon thy brow ? 

How didst thou fall ? What caused thy death ? 

Were thy loved kindred near 
To see thee draw thy latest breath — 

Thy dying words to hear ? 
Or didst thou perish far from home, 

With not a fond one by. 
To breathe above thy lonely tomb 

A sympathetic sigh ? 

What were thy qualities ? and what 

Thy station in this life ? 
Didst dwell within an humble cot, 

Far from the city's strife ? 
Or didst thou in the busy mart 

Day after day appear. 
Striving by every wile and art 

To heap up treasure here ? 



TO A SKULL IN OUR SANCTUM. lOI 

Perchance thou wert a man of law, 

And practiced at the bar ; 
Or else, perhaps, a man of war, 

With many an ugly scar ; 
Or didst thou sail upon the deep 

Thy livelihood to gain ? 
Or didst thou some vile hell-hole keep, 

Thy base life to maintain ? 

Or didst thou strut thy weary hour 

Upon the mimic stage ? 
Or didst thou lend thy mental power 

To the historic page ? 
Or didst thou play a poet's part, 

And in thy language pure 
Speak hope to the despairing heart, 

And comfort to the poor ? 

I cannot tell what thou hast been, 

But I know what thou art — 
A loathsome thing, whose hideous grin 

Strikes terror to the heart. 
I also know that when my soul 

The better land flies to, 
But a few months will onward roll 

Ere I will look like you. 



102 THE HUMAN HEART. 



THE HUMAN HEART. 

THOU knowest the heart, O Father! 
And only Thou canst know- 
Its trials and temptations — 

Its silent, secret woe. 
No eye can scan its working, 

Great spirit save Thine own ! 
Its innermost recesses 

Are known to Thee alone ! 

Thou knowest the heart, O Father! 

The lines of baleful sin 
Will seldom mark the human face 

E'en while it lurks within. 
And there are those who walk the earth 

From all suspicion free. 
Who, when Thy jewels are made up. 

Will have a part in Thee. 

Thou knowest the heart, O Father! 

Thou all its faults can see ! 
And Thou wilt read it truly, 

And judge it tenderly ; 
And many a mourning sinner. 

By man despised and bann'd, 
May, when his deeds are reconned. 

Be found at Thy right hand. 



''GOD BLESS OUR HOME P' IO3 

Thou knowest the heart, O Father ! 

Thou King all kings above ! 
And we may safely trust Thee, 

For Thou art love — all love ! 
O glorious truth ! O solace ! 

How vain were human bliss, 
If only man could judge us, 

And there were no world but this ! 



"GOD BLESS OUR HOME!" 



U 



GOD bless our home ! " is my orison tender, 
When the bright sun gilds the east with his 
splendor. 
All through the darksome night while we were sleeping. 
Angels a watch o'er our household were keeping. 

" God bless our home 1 " As the bright day advances 
Every new blessing our calm joy enhances. 
Mercy and goodness still rise up before us — 
Heaven's dear angels still spread their wings o'er us. 

"God bless our home I" when approaches the even, 
And the bright stars gem the blue vault of heaven ; 
By day and by night on our heads are descending 
Rich tokens of grace from a love never-ending. 

" God bless our home ! " O Great Spirit supernal ! 
Keep alive in our bosoms a passion fraternal ; 
Let Thy love be the beacon to guard and to guide us, 
And then only death can annoy or divide us. 



104 ^ CHILD'S SONG OF PRAISE. 



A CHILD'S SONG OF PRAISE 

" 33lf ss tfjc 3Lorti, © mg soul ! anli forget not all f\is henttits," 

AT morning and at eventide 
Father above, I call on Thee 
To make me pure, to check my pride, 

And teach me sweet humility. 
This is my duty, but I know 

It is not all my tongue should say ; 
From Thee all earthly blessings flow, 
And I should praise as well as pray. 

Who shields me from the howling storm ? 

Who watches me in slumber sweet ? 
Who gives me clothes to keep me warm ? 

Who furnishes me with food to eat } 
Who makes my limbs so lithe and free 

When with my little mates I play ? 
'Tis Thee, O gracious God ! 'tis Thee 

And I must praise as well as pray. 

For father kind and mother dear, 

And friends who are so true to me. 
For all the good I see and hear, 

I am indebted, Lord, to Thee. 
For brain to learn, and books to read. 

And grace to keep bad thoughts away ; 
For these, O Lord ! I feel, indeed. 

That I should praise as well as pray. 



THE BIBLE. 105 

And, gift all others prized above, 

Thy precious word, my hope and light, 
Which fills my heart with sacred love, 

And keeps me in the path of right ; 
Which tells me of a Saviour dear 

Who watches o'er me night and day; 
Oh ! is it not, then, very clear 

That I should praise as well as pray. 

Yes, while I live I'll praise the Lord, 

And daily strive in grace to grow; 
Directed by His precious word, 

I'll walk where living waters flow. 
Oh I praise the Lord, my soul, and raise 

And keep alive the sacred flame, 
And all that is within me praise 

My gracious Maker's holy name. 



THE BIBLE 



BOOK all other books excelling — 
Man's best earthly friend and guide. 
Spring from whose pure source is welling 

Mercy in a crystal tide 1 
Heaven's sweet light shines all about thee, 

Making plain the way to go ; 
What were this sad world without thee 
But a vale of sin and woe.? 



I06 THE BIBLE. 

God's own word ! Life-giving treasure ! 

Solace when all others fly ! 
Who thy wondrous wealth can measure? 

Who can set thy price too high ? 
Grief-dispeller — heart-consoler — 

Faith-sustainer — sorrow's bane — 
Death-destroyer — sin-controller — 

Soul-enlivener — foe to pain ! 

Spirit-stirrer — vision-brightener — 

Sin-expeller — sick soul's cure — 
Strife-allayer — burden-lightener — 

All-wise teacher — refuge sure ! 
Heavenly mentor — soul-wealth bringer — 

Sinner's heart's ease — heaven's chart — 
All in all — salvation-singer — 

Balm to every broken heart ! 

Holy Book ! How all should love it ! 

How its words refresh the soul ! 
Nothing earthly is above it — 

'Tis God's light from pole to pole. 
Beauties ever new discerning 

As I con its pages o'er, 
Let my soul have but one yearning — 

How to prize and love i^ more ! 



PEACE, BE STILL I 107 



PEACE, BE STILL! 

LIKE a vast caldron seem'd the sea ! 
On sped the gallant bark ! 
Like a caged ocean bird set free 

Upon the waters dark. 
Shrieking the storm-fiend hurried by, 

Speaking of woe and wreck ; 

But 'bove 'his voice arose the cry, 

'* We perish, Lord, awake ! " 

O wondrous change ! O heavenly balm ! 

Borne on the storm-fill'd air, 
A sweet, low voice fell like a charm 

Upon each ravish'd ear. 
It was the Master — "Peace, be still!" 

He said, and the mad sea 
At once, in answer to his will, 

Was all tranquillity. 

How sweet the thought when dangers crowd 

Around us to appall, 
That with firm trust we may aloud. 

Upon the Saviour call ! 
How sweet the faith that makes all bright 

And leads us gently home. 
Where dangers can no more affright. 

And sorrow cannot come. 



I08 SHALL WE KNOW THOSE WHO LOVE US. 



SHALL WE KNOW THOSE WHO 
LOVE US? 

SHALL we know those who love us, 
When this transient hfe is o'er 
And we tread the Golden City 

That lies on the other shore? 
When we shall reach the spirit-land, 

Will they to us appear 
In all their old familiar guise — 
Just as we knew them here? 

When we have cast this mortal off 

For immortality, 
And the glad soul with eager flight, 

Speeds through the ether free, 
Will it fly to its blissful home 

Without a taint of earth, 
And find its friends assembled there 

To hail the spirit-birth? 

Shall we forget our misdeeds 

And our miseries for aye, 
And only pleasant memories come. 

Throughout the endless day? 
And shall our love, refined and pure. 

Need no chastising rod. 
But fill our souls with sweet content, 

And lead us up to God? 



LIFE AND DEATH. 109 

O radiant hope! O solace sweet! 

How glorious to be 
From all our earth-born phantasies 

For evermore set free ! 
No longer passion's abject slaves, 

All tribulation o'er — 
How sweet to gain a refuge sure 

Where grief can come no more! 



LIFE AND DEATH. 

HOW beautiful is life in its bright morning, 
Ere the heart knoweth aught of care or woe, 
Or the pure soul has felt the first sad warning 
That sin envelopeth all things below! 

How beautiful is life when, crown'd with roses, 
Fond youth by turns rejoices, sighs, and loves, 

Or in an ideal bower of bliss reposes. 

Or through the sunny vales of fancy roves. 

How beautiful is life, though proud ambition 

Shuts out the light of childhood's happy years ! 

Man, striving hard to better his condition, 
Forgets the while his misery and tears. 

How beautiful is life, e'en when advances 

Old age to bend the frame and dim the eye! 

The tottering pilgrim backward ever glances, 
And never, never is prepared to die. 



no BE HUMBLE, 

But, oh ! to me how vapid seems this yearning 
To cUng to earth with all its woe and pain. 

What is there here to quench this inward burning? 
What is there on this sordid earth to gain? 

How beautiful is death! How calm and quiet 
The features are, fix'd in its sweet repose ! 

The pulseless heart — no sorrow now can try it — 
'Tis freed forever from all earthly woes. 

How beautiful is death! That form so lately 
Rack'd by sharp pain and agonized by fear, 

Now wears a look serenely grand and stately 
While lying silent on its sombre bier. 

How beautiful is death! All strife is ended. 
Nor can ambition, pride, nor black despair, 

Nor any other ill that life attended. 

Lay its rude, caustic, envious finger there. 

O life and death ! ye puzzles to vain mortals. 
And both so fair, view'd by philosophy, 

Shall we, when past the gloomy grave's dark portals, 
Rend the thick veil that hides the mystery? 



BE HUMBLE. 



WHO glories in power ? Who boasts of his might ? 
Who worships his gold-heaps by day and by night ? 
Who makes only vice-gilded pleasure his aim ? 
Who strives only after the chaplet of fame ? 



BE HUMBLE. \\\ 



I 



Vain mortal ! Thy power and might must decay, 
Thy riches take wing and fly swiftly away ! 
Thy dearly-bought pleasure be foUow'd by pain, 
Thy wreath of renown prove unstable and vain ! 

What is this existence to which we all cling? 
It passes away like a bird on the wing. 
'Tis a breath, 'tis a vapor, 'tis a song, 'tis a sigh, 
We weep, we rejoice, we grow weary, we die ! 

And this ends the story — the babe of to-day 
Crowds out the grandsire who passes away; 
And the babe in its turn hurries on to the goal. 
Where death stands awaiting the flight of the soul. 

Be humble, then, mortal, thou worm of the sod. 

And bend thy proud knee in contrition to God, 

Who only is mighty, who only can save. 

And whose smile can light up e'en the gloom of the grave. 

Be humble, and patient, and ready to go 
Whenever thy mission is finish'd below ; 
Then rest thee contented, no terror can come 
When God in his wisdom shall summon thee home. 



112 ALONE AMONG THE SHADOWS. 



ALONE AMONG THE SHADOWS. 

I'M alone among the shadows, 
And I'm waiting for the light, 
To chase away the visions 

Of the dreary, weary night. 
Like a sightless child deserted 
My uncertain way I grope — 
I'm alone among the shadows, 
But my soul is full of hope. 

I'm alone among the shadows ; 

But my doubts and fears are past, 
For I feel the sweet assurance 

That the light will come at last. 
A ray from hope's bright beacon 

Comes through the gloom to me — 
I'm alone among the shadows, 

But my heart is light and free. 

I'm alone among the shadows ; 

But I hear a sweet voice say, 
"You would not prize the daylight 

If it were always day." 
And so I'll strive in earnest 

To keep from error free, 
And he who strengtheneth the weak 

Will surely comfort me. 



A WANDERERS PRAYER. 



A WANDERER'S PRAYER. 

FATHER in heaven, when my soul 
Shall take its flight from earth, 
Grant that my frame may perish on 

The soil that gave it birth ; 
Grant that the friends who cherish'd me 

In sunshine and in gloom. 
Who sorrow'd and rejoiced with me, 
May lay me in the tomb. 

I know that when the spirit flies 

Its prison-house of clay, 
The wondrous structure, cold and dead. 

Soon hastens to decay ; 
But though the pulseless, mould'ring clod 

No sense of joy may have. 
My spirit will rejoice when friends 

Assemble 'round my grave. 

I wish no monumental pile 

To mark the solemn spot, 
No epitaph in fulsome style 

To tell what I was not ; 
But I'd have those who knew me here, 

As o'er my tomb they bend, 
Say, with a feeling all sincere, 

" He was a faithful friend ! " 



114 WHAT IS LIFE? 



WHAT IS LIFE? 

TO eat, to drink, to strive for fame, 
To lay up heaps of gold; 
To pamper self; to toy with shame 

From youth till we are old ; 
To tread the humdrum round of trade, 

With disappointments rife ; 
Now fiU'd with hope, and now dismay'd, 
Oh ! tell me, is this life ? 

Ah ! no ; 'tis but the grosser part — 

A fraction of the whole ; 
The life which satisfies the heart 

Is centred in the soul. 
There lie the sanctities that chase 

Away dark error's mist; 
That fill us with an inward grace, 

And fit us to exist. 

Deep in the soul love rears his throne ; 

There truth and faith abide ; 
And where they rule, ill is unknown, 

And life is glorified. 
The outer world, though fair to see, 

Is full of hate and strife ; 
And oh! how wretched must he be 

Who has no inner life ! 



POEMS OF TRAGEDY. 



A CHRISTMAS STORY. 

J'npWAS winter, and the frost king's breath 

A Made piercing cold the air, 
And the rude north wind, fierce and strong, 

Rushed through the forest bare, 
Till e'en the gaunt and hungry wolf 

Sought shelter in his lair. 

Near the highway, and just within 

The margin of a wood, 
Lonely and drear, and frail with age, 

A time-worn hovel stood ; 
And there a wretched couple dwelt — 

Old John and Rachel Hood. 

The keen blast whistled through the chinks, 

And shook the crazy door. 
And pierced the aged pair as they 

The embers shivr'd o'er. 
And groan'd in bitterness of soul. 

To hear the tempest roar. 

At length the old man with a sigh 

Upraised his hoary head. 
And looking at the wrinkled dame, 

In savage humor said, 
** O wife ! I wish with all my soul 

That you and I were dead. 

(117) 



Il8 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 

"This is a pretty Christmas day, 

Old dame, for you and I ; 
All gloom, and poverty, and rags, 

And abject misery ! 
'Twere better we were in our graves 

And sleeping tranquilly. 

"The pamper'd rich are feasting now 

'Mid revelry and mirth. 
And singing pretty madrigals 

About the Saviour's birth. 
Curse 'em ! I wish the Holy Babe 

Had never come on earth. 

- " How has His coming aided us .? 

What favor have we met? 
Our only son a wanderer. 

If he be living yet ; 
While we are old and poor, and scarce 

A crust of bread can get. 

"Religion is a humbug, dame; 

'Tis only for the few 
Who roll about in carriages, 

And not for me and you. 
I'd sell myself to Satan, 

If he'd find me work to do ! 

" Hark ! Listen, Rachel ! What was that ? 

I heard it once before ! 
It sounds like some one knocking 

For admittance at the door. 
I heard it very plainly then. 

Above the tempest's roar!" 



A CHRISTMAS STORY. 

The wrinkled dame rose from her seat 

And open'd wide the door, 
And standing there, well wrapp'd in furs, 

A traveller they saw, 
Whose face was bronzed, and who had lived 

Of years perhaps two score. 

" A merry Christmas, friends ! " he cried, 

As he survey'd the pair, 
And then he wiped the frozen sleet 

From off his beard and hair, 
And then he took a seat upon 

A rickety old chair. 

The stranger look'd the cabin o'er, 

And then continued he, 
"But you're not over merry here, 

To judge from what I see; 
There are few bosoms that rejoice 

When pinch'd by poverty. 

**.But cheer up, friends; I have the means 
To make your old hearts light. 

And I will pay you well for food 
And shelter for the night. 

I'll make you to sing to-morrow morn 
If you but use me right." 

And then the stranger merrily 

From his great pocket took 
A purse of gold, and holding it 

Aloft, the metal shook ; 
The while the aged couple stared 

With desp'rate, greedy look. 



iig 



I20 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 

Uprose the old man quickly then, 

And eagerly he said, 
"We've little food to offer you 

And but a sorry bed ; 
But what we have is freely yours, 

Though we should go unfed." 

"Enough, enough!" the stranger cried. 

*' If you give all your store. 
You do the very best you can — 

The best could do no more — 
So set before me what you have, 

And compliments give o'er." 

- The meal dispatch'd, the traveller spoke : 
"Remember what I've said. 

You'll merry be to-morrow morn, 
Unless I'm with the dead ; 

And so a kind good-night, old friends ; 
Come, show me to my bed!" 

An hour pass'd on — the stranger slept — 

And to the aged pair 
It seem'd as though a thousand fiends 

Were shrieking in the air. 
As they with greedy, savage eyes 

Did at each other stare. 

At length the old man stealthily 
His trembling wife drew near, 

And while his white hair rose on end. 
He whisper'd in her ear ; 

And then a groan escaped her^ 
And she shook with guilty fear. 



A CHRISTMAS STORY. 121 

''Why should we hesitate," he said, 

" To strike the fatal blow ? 
No soul on earth except ourselves 

The truth will ever know ; 
I'll do it, though the deed should plunge 

My soul in endless woe ! " 

Then crawling to the stranger's couch 

He raised on high a knife. 
And struck the blow which took away 

The hapless victim's life — 
Then clutch'd the gold and bore it to 

His half-demented wife. 

^ ^ i:j ^ ?^ 

The wretched pair sat cowering there 

Till rose the morning sun ; 
They could not sleep, for only half 

Their dreadful task was done, 
And they dared not by candle-light 

Their victim look upon. 

But now when rosy morning 

Had banish'd storm and night, 
They raised the floor and sought the corpse 

To put it out of sight ; 
But, oh ! their guilty souls were fiU'd 

With horror and affright. 

With shaking limbs they raised the dead, 

When suddenly the hair 
Fell from the temples, and the dame 

With fix'd and stony glare 
Gazed on a curious mark, and scream'd, 

'' Look there, old man, look there ! " 



122 ''NOT NOWr 

Transfix'd they stood in speechless awe, 
And motion had they none, 

And freezingly through all their veins 
Did their weak life-tide run ; 

" Great God ! " shriek'd out the murderer, 
** We've kill'd our only son!" 

41? ?'i iU ilf iif 

Oh! ye who scoff at God's decrees 

In unrepentant mood, 
And sacrilegiously ignore 

A Saviour's precious blood. 
Think of the fate which fell upon 

The dame and old John Hood. 



"NOT NOW." 

ON his bed of straw in a garret 
An ag^d German lay, 
And from a wound in his forehead 

His life was ebbing away. 
Tired of this world's troubles. 

And crazed by the drunkard's bowl, 
He had rashly sped the bullet 
Which was letting out his soul. 

And as his senses wander'd 
He mutter'd o'er and o'er, 



''NOT now:' 123 

Of the dear old Fatherland he'd left 

Full thirty years before. 
Something he said of Gretchen, 

Of the air and the bright sunshine, 
And of his happy childhood 

In a cottage by the Rhine. 

The doctor kindly tarried, 

Though he saw the end was near, 
" Have you no friend ? " he question'd, 

" No wife nor children dear. 
For whom you'd leave a message 

Or some token ere you die ? 
Is there no one I can send for?" 

^^ Not noWy' was the reply. 

"They say that since you came here 

Full thirty years have flown, 
And that you'd friends and money 

Ere misfortune struck you down — 
Now can you think of no one 

On whom you can rely ? 
Not one of all your former friends ? " 

^^ Not now,'' was the reply. 

"You murmur of your Fatherland, 

And of your parents mild. 
And of the friends who greeted 

And caress'd you when a child — 
Are they all dead ? Is there not one 

To heave for you a sigh ? 
Not one, e'en there, to mourn your fate ? " 

** Not now,'^ was the reply. 



124 -^^^ ^^ ^^^ ^^ NEAR HIM WHEN HE VIES. 

And now the dread Death Angel 

Shut out the light of day, 
And with "not now" upon his lips 

The old man pass'd away. 
Oh, who can tell while yet the dew 

Of death was on his brow, 
How keen an agony was in 

That terrible ^^not nowf^ 



LET ME NOT BE NEAR HIM WHEN 
HE DIES. 

HIS face is fair — he wears a front undaunted — 
He walks among his fellow men erect — 
He sweetly smiles as though no memory haunted 

His waking hours — he challenges respect. 
His voice is low and sweet when his petition 

Arises from the altar to the skies — 
His purest brethren envy his condition. 

But let me not be near him when he dies! 

Ever on Sunday, at the sweet bell's calling, 

Will he devout and meek to church repair — 
Shudd'ring, perhaps, to see some vile wretch crawling, 

Rum-crazed and ragged, from his fetid lair. 
And as he listens to the earnest preacher 

The bright tears gather in his soft, black eyes. 
And sympathy seems master of each feature — 

But let me not be near him when he dies ! 



LET ME NOT BE NEAR HIM WHEN HE DIES. 1 25 

He is my husband — we have lived together 

In matrimonial gyves for twenty years — 
I changed a girl's heart, lightsome as a feather, 

For a long life of agony and tears. 
The world knows not what I know — I've kept quiet 

When I have heard him lauded to the skies, 
All say he's great and good — I'll not deny it, 

But let me not be near him when he dies ! 

I've watch'd him while he slept in silent terror, 
'And learn'd the secrets of his guilty soul — 
Not one who walks the earth is free from error — 

Not one can every little fault control — 
But oh, the dark deeds mutter'd in his dreaming — 

His fitful starts — his moans — his waking cries — 
These are the products of his wicked scheming — 

Oh, let me not be near him when he dies! 

If in his sleep the deeds he has committed 

Fills his lost soul with black remorse and fear, 
If in his dreams he feels for Heaven unfitted 

How will he act when stern-brow'd death draws near ? 
Oh, Heavenly Father, if in Thy discerning 

The supplication which I make is wise. 
Let me die first — for this favor I am yearning — 

Oh, let me not be near him when he dies ! 



126 STARVATION. 



STARVATION. 

AT twilight, in a tenement house, 
In a small, unfurnish'd room, 
A woman with her baby sat 
Amid the gath'ring gloom. 
The darkness seem'd to settle there 

Like a funereal pall, 
"The while the flickering street lamps threw 
Quaint shadows on the wall. 

The wretched inmate glared around 

Like a wild beast at bay. 
As though she fear'd some monster claim'd 

Her baby for its prey. 
And then with all a mother's love 

The infant she caress'd. 
And drew it close, convulsively, 

Up to her famislVd breast. 

And as she hugg'd the little one, 

A smother'd cry of woe 
Broke from her lips the while she rock'd 

Her body to and fro. 
Then suddenly from her dark eyes 

Uncheck'd the hot tears rain'd, 
And in a voice of bitterness 

The mother thus complain'd : 



STARVATION. 12/ 

**Oh, baby, dear, in vain you toil, 

The wretched fount is dry — 
The hunger-fiend has done his work 

At last, and we must die. 
I've had advice enough, God knows, 

But words are only breath, 
And pious talk will never stop 

The dread advance of death, 

" They bring me tracts in plenty, 

And glibly talk to me 
Of Him who died in torment 

On the cross at Calvary. 
Whene'er they come to visit me 

The lesson they repeat, 
But I think I'd learn it better 

If I had enough to eat. 

"They say I have a sinful soul 

For which the Saviour bled. 
But I've a mortal body too, 

And should not that be fed.? 
I do not scorn their teachings — 

I have tried in prayer to kneel — 
But when the body is unfed 

The spirit will not feel. 

*' For food and a physician's aid 

In vain aloud I cry — 
My darling babe is sinking fast, 

I cannot see him die ! 
He struggles at my bosom 

Till his little strength is spent, 



128 STARVATION, 

And, oh, it breaks my heart to know 
He finds no nourishment, 

" Oh, wealthy mothers of the land, 

Whose nurslings grow and thrive, 
Give me a-* single loaf of bread 

To keep my babe alive. 
And when I see the tint of health 

Upon his pale cheek start, 
I'll read your tracts, and pray that God 

Will purify my heart. 

*' But now throughout the livelong day, 

The spectre of despair 
Stands at my side and glares at me, 

And I can say no prayer. 
And would not you rebellious be 

And full of wild unrest, 
If the sweet babe you love so much 

Were starving on your breast ? 

*' Your prayer begins, ' Our Father,' 

So we must sisters be — 
And should not then a sister feel 

A sister's misery } 
Give, give me food, ye proud ones^ 

And let it not be said 
That one with store of gold refused 

A dying sister bread. 

" But all in vain I supplicate — 
No succor will they yield. 

And we, my babe, will shortly be 
At rest in Potter's Field. 



ALONE. 



129 



And oh, I wish the time had come, 

For death I do not fear, 
The life beyond must happier be 

Than that we pass through here." 



V 



ALONE. 

IN a poverty-stricken hovel 
Stood a man in deep despair, 
For his wife, his love, his darling. 

Lay stark and silent there. 
They had struggled on together — 
Had pain and hunger known — 
But he never thought of trouble 
Till he stood on earth alone. 

"Speak to me, Mary, darling!" 

The wretched mourner said, 
" My love, my life, my dear one ! 

It can't be that you're dead! 
Your Dermott's heart is bursting 

With this bitter, bitter pain ! 
Oh, open your eyes, mavourneeji, 

And speak to me once again!" 

"She's dead enough, I warrant!" 

A surly neighbor said, 
"And in my candid thinking 

It's better that she's dead. 



130 ALONE. 

You've ran yourself in debt, man, 
Since she's been lying ill, 

And what you earn while working 
One mouth will scarcely fill." 



"Oh, man!" cried the bereaved one, 
"Sure, you have never known 

What 'tis in this cold, selfish world 
To feel yourself alone ! 

Alone! while the heart is aching, 
Through the dreary, weary night. 

Alone! when the birds are singing 
And the sun is shining bright ! 



"You don't know what it is, man, 

When life you're passing through, 
To feel that there's no heart on earth 

That beats with love for you. 
No loving hand to minister 

When sickness brings you low — 
No loving voice to cheer you 

In the midst of gloom and woe. 

"'Tis true my only darling 

And myself had toil and care. 

But still we did not murmur 
At our labor or our fare. 

With words of love and comfort 
Our daily crust we shared, 

And thank'd the Blessed Giver 

That heart-hzmger we were spared. 



''PLEASE BURY MY LITTLE DARLING: 



131 



"Believe me — oh, believe me — 

That in this world so cold 
*Tis better to be rich in love 

Than rich in lands and gold. 
If you've true love to comfort you 

While on the hours fly, 
You've that which all the wealth on earth 

Can neither filch nor buy. 

"Oh, Mary, Mary, darling! 

I'll sit with you to-night, 
And I'll fancy you are living 

Till you're buried out of sight — 
And my heart will still be with you 

When you sleep beneath the sod, 
And I'll see you in my dreaming 

Till I'm call'd away to God." 



^'PLEASE BURY MY LITTLE DARLING." 

[" Please bury my little darling. I am driven by poverty and an intem- 
perate husband to do that I would not do. I shall soon be with my child." 
It was the old, old story, pinned on the clothing of an infant found dead yes- 
terday, and buried in the Potter's Field. — New York Siin^ 

I AM weary, oh, how weary 
Of the trials and the fears 
That have haunted me like spectres 

So many bitter years. 
My eyes are sear'd with weeping 

'Mid poverty and strife — 
Please bury my little darling 
For I have done with life. 



132 ''PLEASE BURY MY LITTLE DARLING:' 

In the silence of the midnight, 

With my baby on my breast, 
I've pray'd that God might summon us 

To His eternal rest. 
He has taken my sweet infant 

And answer'd half my prayer, 
Please bury my little darling 

And I will join him there. 

Is it strange that I should murmur, 

And long so much to flee 
Far from a rum-crazed husband 

And abject poverty.? 
I am wild with this great torture. 

And my head begins to swim, 
Please bury my little darling 

For I must go to him. 

He cannot come to me — ah, no. 

My babe has gone to rest — 
His tiny hands are folded 

Upon his little breast. 
His soul is with the Saviour, 

Who has borne it to the sky — 
Please bury my little darling, 

And now, cold world, good-by! 



DEATH IN THE TOMB. 133 



DEATH IN THE TOMB. 

WHO knows him, officer? Has he no friend? 
No one who'll shudder to think of his end ? 
No one to pray for him? 
No one to say for him 
One gentle word that no ear may offend ? 
Is there no tender heart, 
Feeling a brother's part. 
That his remains to the grave will attend? 

You found him, did you, while walking your beat, 

Stupid with liquor, stretch'd prone on the street? 
In a cart placed him then, 
Hitherward raced him then, 

And in the court held him up on his feet. 
While you the charge preferr'd, 
Nothing of which he heard, 

And his committal was render'd complete? 

He was found dead, was he, after a spell — 
Died all alone in this horrible cell — 

No one to hear his cries, 

No one to close his eyes, 
Man, if you have a heart, say was it well? 

How do you know 'twas drink 

That caused his frame to sink ? 
Was it not something else? ah, who can tell? 



134 



THE DRUNKARD. 

Ah, poor unknown ! while he lies in death here, 

Somebody's waiting his footsteps to hear — 
Sad wife and children may 
Hope on from day to day, 

That the dear light of their hearts may appear. 
But they will look in vain 
Ne'er will he come again 

With his glad tones their sad bosoms to cheer. 



THE DRUNKARD. 



HOPELESSLY wandering through the cold street, 
His clothes all in tatters, no shoes on his feet ; 
With countenance bloated, and rum-frenzied eye. 
Tired of living, yet fearing to die, 
How the crowd jeers as he shuffles along. 
No look of pity or love in the throng; 
How his heart burns as he looks on the scene. 
Thinking of what is and what might have been ! 

Once he was youthful, light-hearted, and gay — 
Life to him then seem'd a long summer's day ; 
Now he is penniless, friendless, and old, 
And shakes like a reed in the pitiless cold. 
Once he had energy, freedom from fear, 
A bright beaming eye, and an intellect clear; 
'Twas seldom that sorrow or trouble would come, 
Till he gave himself up to the demon of rum. 



THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 135 

Drink was the serpent that wrought his first pain, 

And fix'd on his record unsulUed, a stain; 

Drink that he hail'd as a friend in his glee, 

But oh! what a fiend did that friend prove to be! 

Slowly, but surely, with devilish art, 

It palsied his strong frame and ate out his heart. 

And placed the dark brand of disgrace on his brow. 

And made him that wreck of a man he is now. 

O ye who are under the rum-demon's spell. 

And pour down your throats his vile poison of hell ! 

Of his subtle arts I beseech you beware. 

Ere you find yourselves wreck'd on the shoal of despair. 

Ye may fight him a while, but believe me, at length 

The strongest will fall and succumb to his strength ; 

If you court him at all, you will struggle in vain 

To break the strong links of the rum-demon's chain. 



I 



THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 

I AM dying, Willie, dying, 
Death's dew is on my brow; 
Come closer — let me gaze on you, 

For you are sober now. 
Your eyes beam kindly on me — 

Your voice is soft and low — . 
And your presence brings to light again 
The blessed long ago. 



136 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE, 

I'm thinking of the happy time 

Ere you and I were wed, 
When daily blessings seem'd to fall 

Like incense on my head — 
When great joy fiU'd my bosom, 

And my step was light and free, 
And you, a bright-eyed, fearless boy, 

Were all the world to me. 

Oh, how I loved you, Willie ! 

And I love you, darling, yet — 
Your kindness in that golden time 

I never can forget. 
And I do not mean to chide you. 

When a backward view I cast; 
And shudder at the gulf between 

The present and the past. 

Forgive me, Willie, darling. 

If my words have caused you pain- 
I will not call up memories 

Of the long ago again. 
But I must speak of the present, 

For I have that to say 
Which I would have you think of, 

When I am snatch'd away. 

Our little boy, oh, Willie, 

He is pure and sinless now — 

There is no shade of crime or vice 
Upon his baby brow — • 

His heart is free from bitterness — 
His soul is pure as snow — 



k 



THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 1 37 

Oh, Willie, in the years to come 
See that you keep him so. 

You have sworn upon the Bible 

That you ne'er again will taste 
The poison that has ruin'd us 

And made our lives a waste. 
If you keep that solemn covenant 

As long as life shall last, 
Our boy is safe, and God will grant 

Forgiveness for the past. 

Come closer to me, darling. 

Let me fold you to my breast. 
Ere the shadows close around me 

And I sink to dreamless rest. 
Oh, the weary, weary hours, 

And the bitter, bitter pain. 
Are lifted from my bosom 

And all is peace again. 

I am dying, Willie, dying. 

But for me all pain is o'er; 
And I'll look for you, my darling, 

When I reach the golden shore. 
God will'd that I should perish 

To save you and our boy, 
And I go to seek His presence 

With an eager, eager joy. 



138 LINES ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY. 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG 
LADY WHO DIED ONLY F O U Pv 
WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE. 

PROUDLY stood they at the altar, 
Loving friends on every side — 
He a young and joyous bridegroom, 

She a youthful, blushing bride. 
Pure her soul as were the flowers 
. That enwreathed her virgin brow — 
Pass'd she like a vision from us, 
. And she is an angel now. 

Four short weeks a bride was Carrie, 

Full of wedded happiness. 
Then we laid her down to slumber 

In her pure white bridal dress. 
Brilliant was she in her beauty, 

As she took her nuptial vow. 
But she was too pure for earth-life, 

And she is an angel now. 

Jesus wept o'er the departed — 

Even He felt mortal woe — 
And when loved ones vanish from us, 

Hearts will ache and tears will flow. 
Weep then, friends, and stricken husband 

But in meek submission bow 
To the will of God — for, surely, 

Carrie is an ano-el now. 



THE TYRANT KING. 1 39 



I 



THE TYRANT KING. 

OH, I am a mighty monarch — 
No mightier can be — 
For tens of thousands yearly 

Lay down their Uves for me. 
My subjects love me dearly, 
With all my tyranny. 

Among earth's mighty rulers 

No rival do I own — 
Beneath my vile exactions 

My meek slaves daily groan, 
And yet, 'mid feuds and factions, 

I'm firm upon my throne. 

No other heartless tyrant 

Could foster hate and strife, 

Without the greatest danger 
Of forfeiting his life, 

And yet, to fear a stranger, 
I rove, with malice rife. 

You'll wonder when I tell you 
How reckless I can be — 

What dark deeds I am doing 
With all impunity — 

What evil paths pursuing 

While miUions cling to me. 



I40 THE TYRANT KING. 

I urge, when wild with passion, 
Weak man to kill his brother — 

I foster bitterness and hate 

Between the child and mother — 

I cause the father's heart irate 
Each spark of love to smother. 

I touch, with smile seductive, 
A matron pure and true. 

And she for me will peril 
Her soul and body, too — 

That bosom render'd sterile, 
Where truth and virtue grew. 

Yea, she will shame the wild-cat 
In her rage, at my behest. 

And slay the babe who cowers 
On her besotted breast. 

And curse the wretched hours 
In her frenzy and unrest. 

I see a man respected — 

A husband good and brave — 

I throw my toils around him 
And claim him for my slave. 

He licks the hand that bound him, 
And finds an early grave. 

Or he may live to scoff at 
And violate the law — 

Perhaps to bathe, when madden'd, 
His hands in human gore. 

While fiends in Hades, gladden'd. 
Will gloat his ruin o'er. 



THE TYRANT KING, 141 

My loyal slaves are legion — 

They fill our social hells, 
And groan their brief existence 

Away in prison cells. 
In sinning, their persistence 

My wond'rous power tells. 

For me men weep and travail 

In rags and wretchedness, 
Without a ray of kindness 

Their tortured lives to bless, 
And beg me in their blindness. 

To banish their distress. 

A man will sell his daughter. 

Or his wedded wife for me — 
The son betray his father 

To basest ignomy — 
Then hug my shackles, rather 
Than be innocent and free. 

There's not a crime prevailing 

That I do not incite — 
They may be scored by millions 

Whose happiness I blight — 
Indeed I've slain my billions 

Since first I saw the light. 

And yet my timid vassals 

Are safe beneath my thumb — 

If they complain, a visit 

From me will make them dumb. 

You ask my name? What is it.'* 
My name, oh, man, is rum! 



1 4 2 WORLD- WEAR Y, 



WORLD-WEARY. 

WEARY, weary, oh! how weary 
Is she of the cold world's strife ! 
Dreary, dreary, oh ! how dreary 

Is the path of her sad life ! 
Grim the phantoms that pursue her 

Ever, ever, night and day! 
Whispering dark words unto her, 
Chasing hope and faith away. 

Not a trusted friend is near her, 

In the world she stands alone ; 
None to soothe her, none to cheer her, 

Wrong'd, uncared for, ^nd unknown. 
Gazes she upon the water, 

Dazed her brain and wild her eye, 
Breathes the prayer her mother taught her, 

And then plunges in to die ! 

Rash the deed, but judge her kindly 

Ye who gaze on horrified ! 
Had she never loved so blindly, 

She would never thus have died. 
Raise her form, all bruised and broken. 

Lay it gently 'neath the sod ; 
Let not one harsh word be spoken. 

Leave her failings all with God. 



THE OUTCAST. 1 43 



THE OUTCAST. 
(an "ow're true tale.") 

A YOUTH sat weeping silently, 
And on his woful face, 
Once innocent, might now be seen 

The shadow of disgrace. 
He'd fallen from his high estate, 
And sought for peace in vain. 
"My reputation's gone!" he cried, 
"I ne'er can smile again!" 

But as he shed in bitterness 

The penitential tear. 
His friends approach'd, and soothing words 

They whisper'd in his ear. 
They bade him blot from memory's page 

The past, and keep in view 
The future only, that he might 

Commence his life anew. 

He did so, and a little while 

His soul was pure and free 
From evil thoughts, temptation's power, 

And all unchastity. 
But soon by guilty pleasure's shaft 

Again his heart was riven ; 
Once more he fell, but by his friends 

He was once more forgiven. 



144 '^^^ OUTCAST, 

And there was one, through all his guilt, 

Forever at his side, 
Who strove with more than human love 

His glaring faults to hide. 
In every dark and stormy time 

A sister near him stood, 
Beseeching him to shun the ill, 

And learn to choose the good. 

A year roll'd by, and in that time, 

Lamentable to tell. 
The victim of a ruthless fiend 

That trusting sister fell. 
VShe loved not wisely, but too well;" 

And was her fault forgiven.? 
Had she a friend to counsel herf 

Not one, except in Heaven. 

The very brother that her voice 

Had pleaded most to save, 
Heap'd curses on her hapless head 

And wish'd her in the grave. 
The father who had seen her grow 

In beauty 'neath his eye, 
Address'd her as a loathsome wretch, 

And cast her forth to die. 

Bleak was the night, and as she walk'd 

Along the frozen street, 
The outcast tlrembled as she felt 

The icy, chilling sleet. 
She reach'd a lofty edifice. 

Made the hard porch her bed — 



I 



THE OUTCAST, I45 

And as she sought the sleep of death, 
"Forgive him, God," she said. 

Next morning when the dayUght broke, 

Her stiffen'd corpse was found. 
And hurriedly 'twas taken up 

And put beneath the ground. 
No prayer was said, no tear was shed 

When she was laid in earth, 
And he who wrought her fall is thought 

A gentleman of worth. 

Now, why is this,? Should not the wretch 

Who tramples in the dust 
A young heart's purest offering, 

Forever be accursed? 
Should he not be compell'd to feel 

The world's severest ban, 
And meet the undisguised contempt 

Of every honest man. 

The wretched one who fell from grace 

In Galilee of yore. 
Was told by Him who died for us 

To go and sin no more. 
But now, if woman steps aside, 

Society will cry, 
" Sin on — there is no hope for thee ! 

Sin ever till you die!" 
J 



46 THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM, 



THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM. 

THE drunkard lay on his bed of straw 
In a poverty-stricken room — 
And near him his wife and children three 
Sat shivering in their misery 
And weeping amid the gloom. 

And as he slept, the drunkard dream'd 

Of happy days gone by, 
When he wooed and won a maiden fair 
With rosy cheeks and golden hair, 

And heavenly, soft-blue eye. 

Again he wander'd near the spot 

Where Mary used to dwell. 
And heard the warbling of the birds 

His darling loved so well, 
And caught the fragrance of the flowers 

That blossom'd in the dell. 

Again he at the altar stood 

And kiss'd his blushing bride, 

And gazing on her beauty, felt 
His bosom swell with pride. 

And thought no prince could rival him. 
With Mary at his side. 



THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM. 147 

The drunkard's wife is brooding o'er 

The happy long ago — 
In mute despair she sighs and rocks 

Her body to and fro. 
He dreams — she thinks — yet both their thoughts 

In the same channel flow. 

But now upon the drunkard's brow 

A look of horror dwells, 
And of his fearful agony 

Each feature plainly tells — 
Some hideous scene which wakes despair, 

His dream of bliss dispels. 

Upon him glares a monster now 

With visage full of ire. 
And yelling fiends with ribald songs 

Replace the feather'd choir, 
And the pure water of the spring 

Is turn'd to liquid fire. 

And as the red flames leap and roar 

Around the brooklet's brink. 
The fiends a flaming goblet raise 

And urge the wretch to drink. 
While overhead the stars fade out * 

And all is black as ink. 

** Drink, comrade, drink ! " the dei)ions cry. 

" Come to our banquet — come ! 
This is the fitting draught for those 

Who sell their souls for rum ! " 
No word the drunkard speaks, but stares 

As he were stricken dumb. 



148 THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM, 

And now they point him to the brook, 
And cry, " See, drunkard ! see 1 

Amid yon flames are struggHng 
Your wife and children three, 

And in their terror and despair. 
They call for help on thee I " 

He rush'd to aid them, but at once 
The demons block'd his way. 

And then he sank upon his knees 
In agony, to pray ; 

But palsied was his tongue, and he 
Could no petition say. 

The drunkard writhed and from his brow 

Cold perspiration broke. 
As round the forms of those he loved 

Curl'd up the flame and smoke, 
And, shrieking in his agony. 

The wretched man awoke. 

He glared around with frenzied eyes — 
His wife and children three 

Sat shivering in their tatter'd rags 
In abject misery. 

And wept outright to look upon 
His waking agony. 

A pause — a sigh — and reason's light 
Again did on him beam. 

And springing to his feet, he cried, 
''Thank God, 'twas but a dream. 

And I, perhaps, may yet regain 
My fellow-man's esteem!" 



THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM. 149 

Then reaching forth his trembling hand, 

He from the table took 
A mother's gift when he was wed — • 

The good God's Holy Book; 
And while his loved ones knelt around, 

A solemn vow he took. 

" So help me God, I ne'er again 

Will touch the poison'd bowl 
Which ruins health and character, 

And steeps in guilt the soul, 
And swells the fearful list of names 

Affix'd to Satan's scroll! 

" Help me, O Lord ! to keep this oath — 

To shun each vicious den 
Wherein Td feel the tempter's power 

To make me sin again ! " 
And from his sobbing wife's white lips 

Arose a loud " Amen ! " 

And then on her wan visage beam'd 

A smile of joy once more. 
And, clinging to her husband's neck, 

She kiss'd him o'er and o'er, 
And wept such happy tears as she 

Had never wept before. 

4J$ iif i.'J v.'J i\i ?,i 

He kept his oath, and from that time 

Their home did Heaven seem ; 
No discord now — sweet peace was theirs. 

And love their only theme. 
And daily both gave thanks to God 

Who sent the Drunkard's Dream. 



150 THE BEGGAR-GIRUS COMPLAINT. 



THE BEGGAR-GIRL'S COMPLAINT. 

^^ /^^LD Santa Claus has come again!" 

V^ The rich man's children cry, 
And health glows in their ruddy cheeks 

As they run shouting by. 
I do not envy them their toys, 

Nor would I check their glee ; 
But oh! I wish that Santa Claus 

Would visit Sue and me ! 

They say he's merry, kind, and free ; 

But I am very sure. 
Though this may be his character, 

He does not like the poor. 
For if he did, he'd call on them, 

And give them of his store, 
Instead of striding coldly on 

Past every poor man's door. 

I do not want his pretty toys. 

His candies or his fruits ; 
I'd rather have, by far, a frock 

Or pair of winter boots. 
Or a nice warm stove to sit by, 

Or a bonnet for the street, 
Or a pair of woollen stockings. 

Or a loaf of bread to eat. 



THE BEGGAR-GIRL'S COMPLAINT. 151 

Oh! if / were old Santa Claus, 

I know what I would do; 
I'd visit rich men's houses, 

But I'd visit poor homes too. 
And if I bless'd the rich man's child 

With toys and dainties sweet, 
I'd give the poor warm clothes to wear. 

And food enough to eat. 



I'd go to every lonely hut. 

And every palace grand. 
And scatter presents everywhere 

With an unsparing hand. 
And Christmas morning, when the bells 

Gave out a joyful sound. 
Not one sad face or bleeding heart 

Should in the world be found. 



Oh ! if I were old Santa Claus, 

I'd make all sad homes bright ; 
Boys should not swear, and lie, and steal; 

Nor parents drink and fight; 
Nor should poor homeless wanderers 

Be treated cruelly, 
While plodding through the bleak, dark streets, 

Like little Sue and me. 



But I am not old Santa Claus; 

I'm but a beggar-girl. 
Who's buffeted and kick'd about, 

In the great city's whirl. 



152 ''SEEKING WARMTH, AND FINDING DEATH:' 

Not one kind voice addresses me, 
None heed the pangs I feel, 

And so to keep myself alive 
I have to beg and steal. 

O men! who b'lieve that Christ the Lord 

Was poor while on the earth, 
Steel not your hearts against us 

On the morning of His birth; 
But as your well-clad little ones 

Throng round you in their glee, 
Give one kind thought to such poor waifs 

As little Sue and me. 



"SEEKING WARMTH, AND FINDING 
DEATH." 

A TRUE INCIDENT. 

y I ^WAS a fearful night in winter — 

-A. A night of snow and sleet — 
When a beggar, worn and weary 

Crept through the lonely street. 
To better his condition 

He had left fair Italy, 
And thought to find a Heaven in 

This land of liberty. 



SEEKING WARMTH, AND FINDING DEATHS 1 53 

He was sick, and sore, and ragged, 

And penniless, and old. 
And shiver'd like an aspen 

In the bitter, biting cold ; 
And he wonder'd why he hunger'd 

And went without a bed, 
For he had heard that strangers here 

Could always earn their bread. 

While passing by a lime-kiln, 

He felt the genial glow 
Of heat upon the surface 

From the burning mass below; 
And he look'd up into Heaven, 

Where the blessed Saviour dwells. 
And, muttering a prayer, he sought 

A bed upon the shells. 

And, as sleep stole upon him, 

He saw a vision bright — 
A grand, majestic figure, 

Array'd in purest white ; 
His eyes were full of pity, 

And his face was free from guile. 
And on his countenance there play'd 

A beatific smile. 

"Poor wanderer!" the stranger said; 

" Neglected, sick, and lone ! 
My heart goes out to thee, for I 

Have want and sorrow known ; 
I, too, have felt, in all its force, 

Man's inhumanity; 



154 ''SEEKING WARMTH, AND FINDING DEATHS 

I, too, have been a man of grief — 
A wanderer like thee. 

"But I will gently nurse thee, 

And lull thy cares to rest ; 
I'll snatch thee from thy misery, 

And warm thee in my breast; 
I'll take thee to my Father's house, 

And thou shalt happy be. 
Nor shalt thou know another pang — 

Say, wilt thou go with me?" 

Those dulcet tones fell sweetly 

Upon the beggar's ear; 
He realized, with joy, that he 

Beheld the Saviour dear; 
And ere the glorious sunshine 

Proclaim'd another day, 
The beggar's soul had plumed its wings, 

And sped with Christ away. 

Next morning, on the lime-kiln 

The blacken'd corpse was found; 
And as, with ghastly faces, 

The workmen gather'd round, 
They said to one another, 

As they gazed, with bated breath: 
" He came in here to look for warmth, 

And in its stead found death!" 



THE FELON'S LAST NIGHT 155 



THE FELON'S LAST NIGHT. 

THE felon lay in his gloomy cell, 
His keeper sat close by; 
The doom'd wretch knew, alas! too well, 

That he must surely die 
Before another sun should set; 

And yet how strange that he 
Should all his dread of death forget, 
And slumber tranquilly 1 

He dream'd of childhood's happy hours 

He heard the robin sing, 
And cull'd again the sweet wild flowers 

That blossom'd near the spring; 
He saw his mother's look of pride. 

And felt the same sweet joy 
As when he frolick'd by her side, 

A sinless, happy boy. 

Again he linger'd on the green, 

And cast his eyes about 
In search of little Eveleen, 

When irksome school was out ; 
Again he saw her sunny smile, 

Her artless, bashful look. 
And kiss'd her rosy cheek the while 

They wander'd by the brook. 



156 THE FELON'S LAST NLGHT. 

The sleeper's heart was all aglow 

With innocent delight, 
Nor dream'd he that a shade of woe 

Could mar his vision bright; 
A sweet smile wreath'd his haggard brow ; 

A prayer his thin lips moved, 
"O Father! Thou hast bless'd me now — 

I love, and I am loved!" 



Ha! what a sound breaks on his ear! 

The solemn prison bell 
Rings out the summons loud and clear- 

The prisoner's death-knell ! 
He springs erect! The look of joy 

Has vanish'd from his brow! 
His dream is o'er; the sinless boy 

Is a doom'd felon now! 



" Back ! back ! " he cried, with eyes agleam ; 

"Too soon the bell they toll! 
I cannot die with that sweet dream 

Yet ling'ring in my soul ! 
Back ! back ! Ere ye take me away 

Through yonder prison door, 
For Christ's sake grant me leave to stay 

On earth one hour more ! " 



In vain the felon shrieks aloud, 
And struggles to get free ; 

They drag him forth before the crowd 
Around the gallows-tree. 



NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 1 57 

The fatal noose is round his neck : 

A priest is standing near, 
Beseeching him the cross to take, 

And banish every fear. 

A moment's pause. The felon stands 

Like one in dreadful doubt; 
Then clenching fast his bony hands. 

Defiantly shrieks out: 
"Begone, vile priest! I spit at thee! 

I will not kiss the rod ! 
I b'lieve not in thy mummery! 

Away ! there is no God ! 

'' You say I'm doom'd ! Ha ! ha ! 'tis well ! 

No other world I fear — 
I cannot meet a fiercer hell 

Than I have suffer'd here ! " 
The cap was drawn, the trap was sprung, 

And on the gallows-tree 
The felon's lifeless body swung; 

His soul from earth was free, 



NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 



A 



T the close of a bitter cold day. 

When the snow on the frozen ground lay 
A poor woman's child. 
With a face wan and mild, 



158 NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 

In a garret was passing away. 
Gaunt hunger, 
Dread hunger, 
Had stolen the bloom from his cheek, 
And his mother sat there, 
With a look of despair, 
To catch what her darling might speak. 

"Come closer, dear mother," he said, 

"And lay your soft hand on my head, 
And tell me once more 
Of that other bright shore 

Where we never shall hunger for bread." 
"Hush, darling! 
Peace, darling ! " 

She raised him to lull him to rest. 
And she brush'd the soft hair 
From his forehead so fair. 

But he died as he lay on her breast. 

The morning broke joyous and clear, 
'Twas the first of the opening year; 

But the shouts of gay boys. 

And the cannon's rude noise. 
Fell unheard on that poor mother's ear. 
Oh ! hear it ! 
Oh! heed it! 
Ye wealthy, well clothed, and well fed, 

In that season of joy 

A mother and her boy 
Had perish'd for the want of bread. 



POEMS OF COMEDY. 



THE SURPRISE PARTY. 

JOHN PINCHBECK lived on Murray Hill, 
The upper-crust among, 
He had a healthy bank account, 

His wife was fair and young — 
He'd earn'd a handsome competence 

By selling hides and leather — 
His head was level and his heart 
As light as any feather. 

But John's wife, pretty though she was. 

And sociable and free, 
Was fond of taking on French airs 

When in society. 
To see the lady in her silks 

And diamonds array'd 
'Twas hard to b'lieve she once had been 

A simple dairy maid. 

But so it was — and one fine day 

A couple stout and jolly — 
Zeke Soper and his wife — came down 

To see their darling Polly. 
For Polly was the lady's name 

When at her spinning-wheel, 
But now she'd changed it to Pauline, 

As being more genteel. 
K (i6i) 



1 62 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 

** Oh, lawful sakes ! " Zeke's wife cried out, 

Wlien she the mansion stood in, 
" I hope I never more may see 

A bowl of hasty puddin' 
If this ain't scrumpshious ! Only see 

The picters on the ceilin' 1 
As nat'ral as life ! Why, Zeke, 

I'm on the p'int o' squealin'! 



" It's fresco, is it ? Well, I vow 
I'm drefiful glad you told me ! 

And see the carpets and the cheers, 
■ And sofys ! Zekel, hold me ! 

I'm nigh a bustin' with amaze! 
I really am ! Why, Polly, 

With all these fixins 'round you, gal, 
You must be awful jolly! 



"It's mighty fine! But, goodness me! 

Zeke, see them naked figgers 
A standin' on the mantel-piece ! 

They make me blush, by jiggers ! 
You say they're noble works of art, 

And great folks come to view 'em ? 
Well, Polly, dear, if I was you 

I'd put some clothes onto 'em ! 



"What's that you say? Pauline's your name? 

Good gracious me, what folly! 
Why, wern't I by, you silly thing, 

When you was christen'd Polly? 



THE SURPRISE PARTY. 163 

And if the name was good enough 

For your dear, blessed mother, 
It's good enough for you, and I 

Sha'n't call you any other ! 



" But speakin' of your christenin', Poll, 

To me it is bewilderin' 
That you've been married seven years 

And ain't had any children. 
Your ma had twelve and I've had eight — 

Now, Polly, dear, confess it, 
A house, though grand, ain't worth a snap 

Without a babe to bless it. 



"What's that you say.? You wish Pd try 

To speak with more propriety — 
That havin' babes is frovvn'd upon 

By folks in good society.? 
Jerusalem ! But that beats all ! 

It's contrary to natur' ! 
Society is dead agin 

The law of the Creator ! 



** I've got a kind of idea. Poll, 

That you the Lord are grievin* — 
Depend upon it, you can't take 

Your fashions up to Heaven. 
You've kept from havin' babies. 

But the Lord you cannot cozen, 
And at the awful judgment day 

You'll wish you'd had a dozen. 



164 THE SURPRISE PARTY. 

" But, deary me I'm tired out ! 

My bones are ackin' cruel — 
Come, Polly, show us to our room — 

I'd like a bowl of gruel. 
And can't you get some bone-set tea 

And mustard for a body. 
And a warm hand-iron for my feet .^ 

And Zeke would like some toddy ! " 



Next evening Mrs. Pinchbeck thus 

Address'd her lord and master : 
** Oh, husband, how can we survive 

This terrible disaster .? 
I'll die — I know I shall — if aunt 

And uncle with us tarry 
Till they are seen by proud Miss Sharp 

And jealous Mrs. Barry. 



" Such a disgrace ! Just think of it ! 

This morning at the table 
The servants, though afraid to laugh 

Aloud, were scarcely able 
To hide their mirth, when Uncle Zeke, 

By Aunt Jerusha follow'd, 
Pick'd up the half-fiU'd finger bowl 

And all the water swallow'd I " 



Just then the hall-bell rang aloud, 
And soon a summons hearty 

Smote on the lady's startled ear, 

"Ha, Pinchbeck! Here's a party! 



THE SURPRISE PARTY. 1 65 

We've come to give you a surprise — 

We know you'll be delighted 
And welcome us right cordially, 

Though we were not invited 1 " 



Poor Mrs. Pinchbeck ! How was she 

The dreadful blow to parry ? 
She heard the voices of her friends, 

Miss Sharp and Mrs. Barry. 
And many others whom she knew 

Delighted to perplex her. 
And who would rummage high and low 

To scandalize and vex her. 



** Friends ! " cried the lady, " welcome all- 

Pm glad to see you, really! 
Just pass down to the dining-room 

And use the closets freely 
But please don't come up stairs, for we 

Two friends are entertaining — 
Distinguish'd persons from abroad — 

Both nervous and complaining!" 



Oh, horror! Even as she spoke, 

A voice that made her shiver 
Came from above, " Oh, Zeke ! " it cried, 

** That sirup for my liver ! 
I've left it in the room below — 

I cannot do without it — 
Besides, there's company down stairs — 

Let's go and ask about it ! " 



1 66 THE SURPRISE PARTY, 

Ere Mrs. Pinchbeck could prevent 

The act that her degraded, 
The aged couple merrily 

The dining-room invaded. 
To make the matter worse, old Zeke 

Had taken too much toddy. 
And felt that he was just as rich 

And grand as anybody. 



" Why, how d' deu, good folks ! " he cried, 

And then at Mrs. Barry 
He wink'd and said, facetiously, 

*' Lord, what a spread you carry ! 
Well, make yourselves to hum at once ! 

Away with melancholy! 
Hurrah ! Let's have a straight-four dance ! 

Jerushy, where is Polly ? 



" She needn't keep herself so shy 

Because she's got a fortin', 
She was as poor as anyone 

'Fore Pinchbeck did his courtin' — 
But this ril always say for Poll — 

No other gal, I reckon. 
Could ekal her at dairy work, 

At washin' or at bakin'. 



** Ah, here she is ! and Pinchbeck, too 
Come, folks, bring on your fiddle. 

And let us have an old time dance 
Up sides and down the middle! 



THE SURPRISE PARTY. 167 

Come, Polly, put your best licks in, 

Just as you used to do it 
At all our frolics down to hum — 

Go on ! I'll see yeou through itl " 



Thus Uncle Zekel rattled on, 

And when his tongue had tired, 
Old Aunt Jerush took up the theme 

With emulation fired. 
She told her niece's history 

From childhood till she married, 
While Mrs. Pinchbeck helpless stood 

And not a thrust was parried. 



Let's close the scene — a week pass'd by- 

The Pinchbecks, half demented, 
Were writhing still when they received 

A note with perfume scented. 
From Mrs. Barry. Thus it read: 

*' To Mrs. Pinchbeck greeting : 
Dear friend — the ladies of our set 

Are soon to have a meetins:. 



" Our object is to call upon 

And speak with Madame Herman 
About the getting up in style 

Of our forthcoming German. 
And if you'll send us the address 

Of your high-bred relations, 
ril see that they, as well as you, 

Are granted invitations ! " 



l68 PERHAPS SO, BUT I DOUBT IT. 

The moral of my story is 

That pride must have a tumble — 
That those who in their wealth forget 

They once were poor and humble — 
Who think they wear so close a mask 

That no one can detect it, 
May come to grief with all their airs, 

E'en when they least expect it. 



PERHAPS SO, BUT I DOUBT IT. 

OLD Money Grub has piles of wealth, 
Yet toils like any digger ; 
Greed steels his heart and saps his health, 

But larger grows the figure. 
He says religion is a lie, 

And men can do without it ; 
Will this pay when he comes to die } 
Perhaps so, but I doubt it. 

And while old Grub hoards up his gold, 

Young Grub makes fast to spend it, 
Resolved to sin till he is old — 

Then change his life and mend it. 
But when age bids him right the wrong, 

Do you think he'll set about it ? 
Will long indulgence make him strong } 

Perhaps so, but I doubt it. 



PERHAPS SO, BUT I DOUBT IT, 1 69 

And Mrs. Grub, the miser's wife, 

Who prates of Mrs. Grundy, 
And leads a very worldly life 

On every day but Sunday ; 
Will riches her the power give 

To conquer death or flout it.-* 
Can she, by wishing, longer live ? 

Perhaps so, but I doubt it. 

And young Miss Grub, so full of airs, 

And devoid of candor. 
So fond of shirking household cares. 

So very proud to slander ; 
Will Heaven her petition hear. 

However loud she shout it 1 
Will she rejoice when death draws near? 

Perhaps so, but I doubt it. 

Will strife and anger lead to peace .^ 

Will riches bring contentment .'* 
Will vice, by free indulgence, cease } 

Will hard words cure resentment t 
When Heaven wills that we should be.ar 

Misfortune, can we rout it ! 
And is it wisdom to despair } 

Perhaps so, but I doubt it. 



I/O THE ROOT OF THE EVIL, 



THE ROOT OF THE EVIL. 

OLD Mr. Grump, the millionaire 
Sat propp'd up in his easy chair, 
Pretentious, pompous, stern and stout, 
A martyr to ennui and gout. 

A table near the old man stood. 
On which were bits of dainty food ; 
Nor did the tempting spread-out lack 
A bottle of old Cogniac. 

While nibbling some delicious game, 
The doctor he had summon'd came — 
And laying back his frame to rest, 
Grump thus the man of pills address'd : 

"Now listen to me. Dr. Squill, 
I wish you'd either cure or kill — • 
If you would have me use you civil. 
Strike at the real root of my evil." 

The doctor paused and thought awhile. 
Then, with a very pleasant smile. 
He raised his cane, and with one stroke 
The well-fill'd brandy bottle broke. 



OURS, 171 



OURS. 

JOHN HAWTHORNE was a worthy man- 
A farmer blythe and free ; 
He own'd two hundred acres, 

And a widower was he. 
His hands were hard with honest toil, 

His intellect was sound ; 
And he possess'd the finest stock 
In all the country 'round. 

But John was discontented, 

In spite of all his wealth — 
His fruitful soil, his stock so rare, 

His never-failing health — 
The blooming, buxom Widow Green 

Had set at him her cap, 
And for his vast possessions now 

He didn't care a rap. 

And so it one day happen'd 

That in his best array'd, 
He sought the charming widow's cot, 

And there before her laid 
His heart, and hand, and fortune — 

And is it strange to say 
That she, the fair, bewitching dame. 

Accepted them straightway ? 



IJZ OURS. 



The knot once tied so firmly 

That there could be no slip, 
The happy couple started off 

Upon their bridal trip. 
They visited Niagara, 

And Saratoga, too ; 
And o'er them, like a happy dream, 

The golden hours flew. 



Alas, for human pleasure ! 

The sunshine and the cloud 
Will throw their light and shade alike 

On humble and on proud, 
And even at the moment 

When love their bosoms stirr'd. 
Their happiness was shatter'd 

By a simple little word. 



" My love," said John, one morning, 

" Thou sharer of my bliss ! " 
(And here he gave his partner 

A sweet) ecstatic kiss) 
"Now that I'm fairly settled 

With my darling little wife, 
I think I'll sell my farm at once. 

And lead an easy life." 



" Say otir farm, my darling ! " 
John's loving spouse replied. 

John slightly frowned an instant 
Upon his charming bride. 



OURS. 173 

''My farm, love," he repeated — 

''I will not call it thine; 
I grant you we are wedded, 

But still the farm is mine!'' 

'' Our farm V '' My farm ! " " Our farm ! " 
''My farm!" 

And thus the fight went on, 
Till Mrs. Hawthorne No. 2 

Attacked the luckless John 
With teeth and nails together, 

Till he was forced to yield — 
He said, " Our farm 1 " and his fair bride 

Was mistress of the field. 

Now when this tired couple 

To their rustic home return'd. 
Was John Hawthorne unmindful 

Of the lesson he had learn'd } 
Was he resolved henceforward 

The lady's boss to be? 
Well, be not too impatient — 

Wait awhile and we shall see. 

"My dear, what are you looking for.?" 

Asked Mrs. H. one day. 
"I'm looking for our razor, love!" 

Her humble spouse did say. 
"We have mislaid it somehow, 

And our beard is getting long; 
I daresay we shall find it 

Our travelling traps among. 



174 OURS. 



"Another thing, my darling — 

I'd really like to know- 
Where our slippers vanish'd to 

Our bunions hurt us so ! 
And won't you, please, my own love, 

Insert a few strong stitches 
In this bad rent 'a nail made 

In our best working breeches ? " 

And thus the lady's dictum 

Is heeded day by day, 
And timid Mr. Hawthorne 

Has not a word to say; 
Her firm determination 

His weak will overpowers — 
She orders all to suit herself 

And everything is ''ours.'' 

The moral of my story 

All men can understand: 
If a widower is anxious 

To secure a widow's hand, 
It should be fairly understood. 

Before the knot is tied. 
To whom the property belongs — 

To him or to his bride. 



BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WRITE. 175 



BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WRITE 

OH, wealthy, toil-worn merchant, 
With ever busy brain, 
While poring o'er thy ledger 

And counting loss and gain, 
When tradesmen are complaining, 

And money's very "tight," 
If ask'd for your endorsement, 

Be careful what you write. * 

And you, excited lover. 

Whose heart wells o'er with sighs, 
Whose brain is dazed while gazing 

In a pair of roguish eyes — 
If you're impell'd by Cupid 

A missive to indite. 
When you sit down to pen your thoughts 

Be careful what you write. 

And thou, oh, wealthy graybeard — 

A widower, mayhap — 
Entranced by some gay widow 

Who sets at you her cap — 
Should she send you a letter 

Which fills you with delight, 
When you essay an answer, 

Be careful what you write. 



176 BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WRITE. 

And let me caution thee, too, 

Thou man of passions strong, 
When you are writhing under 

Some real or fancied wrong, 
And longing to demolish 

Your adversary quite, 
By sending him a letter, 

Be careful what you write. 



And thou, oh, busybody. 

Whose never weary eye 
Gleams greedily whenever 

A neighbor's fault you spy, 
Your specious inuendoes 

May safely speak your spite ; 
But if you'd 'scape a lawsuit. 

Be careful what you write. 



And thou, oh, gifted author, 
Whose ready, facile pen 

Developes scenes and incidents 
Which thrill thy fellow men — 

Let reason and morality 

Control thy fancy's flight — 

Say nothing which may foster sin- 
Be careful what you write. 



The memory of idle words 
Perhaps may pass away — 

The evil they engender 
Be forgotten in a day; 



THE LAW STUDENT. 177 

But once in print, they may appear, 

Some guileless soul to blight, 
When you have molder'd into dust — 

Be careful what you write. 

Oh, ye who wield the mighty pen! 

Thrice happy is his lot 
Who, "living, never wrote a line 

That, dying, he would blot." 
No terrors of the dread beyond 

Can such a soul affright — 
Then ye who furnish mental food, 

Be careful what you write. 



THE LAW STUDENT. 

A FORWARD youth just home from college, 
Where he was seeking legal knowledge, 
Anxious his wdsdom to display 
His father thus address'd one day: 
"Now, father, here's an apple — see — 
Which I design to give to thee — 
But so that none thy claim dispute, 
And to despoil thee bring a suit, 
I'll give it thee in legal way. 
As thus — to wit — that is to say: 

L 



178 THE LklV STUDENT. 

" I give you all and singular, 

Without encumbrance, let, or bar. 

My interest, title and estate — 

Whether the same be small or great — 

My present right and claim, and all 

Advantage, whatsoe'er befall, 

That apple in, for your own use. 

With all its seed, skin, pulp and juice — 

With all advantage and all right, 

With power to sell, roast, cut. or bite — 

With power to eat or give away 

At any hour, night or day, 

in mouthfuls or in single gulp, 

With all its seed, skin, juice and pulp. 

Anything publish'd heretofore 

Or hereinafter, less or more. 

Or any instrument, deeds or deed 

Made in the past or to succeed 

Of what kind or nature countermanding 

To the contrary, notwithstanding. 

No man to cancel this need try — 

Now, father, how is that for high.?" 

The puzzled sire scratch'd his head. 
Then, with a sigh, he slowly said: 
"I think, my bright son, that the law 
Is like a pickerel's head, all jaw. 
Now you may to the cellar go 
And split wood — how is that for low? 



THE JOLLY HERMIT, 1 79 



THE JOLLY HERMIT. 

LATE, while wand'ring through a forest, 
Sad and grave, 
Suddenly I saw before me 

A hermit's cave. 
Wearied out and faint with walking, 

Full of care, 
Sick at heart, and needing solace, 
I enter'd there. 



On a rude bench, fondly patting 

A purring cat. 
All his features beaming welcome. 

The hermit sat. 
Very old he was, and hoary, 

But merrily 
He laugh'd aloud, and kindly bade me 

Seated be. 

"Tell me," I said, ''thou hoary hermit, 

So old and poor. 
What dost thou find on earth that worketh 

Affliction's cure } 
There's naught around thy hut but telleth 

Of misery, 
And yet thy piping voice is cheery 

And full of glee." 



l80 THE JOLLY HERMIT, 

"I'll tell thee, boy," he said, and gayly 

His beard he twirl'd. 
"The thing's explain'd in one brief sentence 

Fve left the ivorld ! 
When I was in it I had trouble. 

And felt, I trow, 
As badly, oft, and as dejected 

As you do now. 



"You will not yet essay the cure, boy, 

Too young are you. 
And heart-sorrows are but transient 

When life is new ; 
But if you'd 'scape the many trials 

Which me befell. 
Take from me these brief precepts, 

And heed them well. 



"Make love the basis of your actions 
Invariably ; 

But let it be self-love — no other 

Can wholesome be. 

Trust thou no man, and love no woman- 
Hard task indeed ! — 

But, sooth, if you neglect this warning 

Your heart mzi-st bleed. 



"Look to it that you favor no one — 
Be this your boast ; 

For those who are your greatest debtors 
Will hate you most. 



THE JOLLY HERMIT. l8l 

Live for yourself; be shrewd and wary; 

Shut up you heart 
And close your eyes to all that suffer 

Affliction's smart. 

"For forty years I loved to practice 

Sweet charity, 
But found in everv one I aided 

An enemy; 
Now I am old, and wise, and happy, 

And free from strife — 
And thus, boy, you may conquer 

The ills of life." 

"Avaunt!" I cried, "thou hoary hermit! 

Thy words appall ! 
Thou'dst turn the milk of human kindness 

To bitter gall ! 
The sweetest jets that issue from life's fountain 

Are faith and love — 
In deeds of Heav'nly charity we foretaste 

The bliss above." 

"Ha! ha!" then gayly laugh'd the hermit: 

" My plan is true ! 
I've proved it to my satisfaction, 

And so will you ; 
And all the diff'rence between us 

Under the sun 
Is this, that I am over eighty — 

You're tweitty-one^^ 



1 82 THE TINKER'S MISTAKE. 



THE TINKER'S MISTAKE. 

ATTENTION, friends, and I will tell 
What once a luckless wight befell — 
A travelling tinker, named John Drew, 
Who daily tramp'd the country through. 

A shiftless vagabond was John, 
Who Jittle reck'd how he got on; 
Enough to eat, a bed when tired, 
Was all the wealth which he desired. 

And, then, to give the man his due, 
He was to friendship firm and true ; 
His motto was, "Man is my brother, 
And one good turn deserves another." 

Alert he was, and wide awake ; 
But once he made a sad mistake. 
Which bow'd him down with shame and grief. 
From which he vainly sought relief. 

Thus runs the story: John, one day, 
Had tramp'd a long and weary way. 
When a neat road-side inn he saw, 
And panting halted at the door. 

" Landlord," John cried, *' my worthy friend, 
Any old pots or pans to mend ? " 
"Yes," said the host with clouded brow, 
"But money's rather scarce just now." 



THE TINKER'S MISTAKE. 183 

" I want no cash," the tinker said ; 
" For supper, breakfast, and a bed, 
I'll do the work, and think it fun." 
*' Done !" cried the landlord, " double done !" 

The tinker labor'd with a will. 
And back'd by honesty and skill. 
Ere scarce one toilsome hour had sped, 
He'd fniish'd, supp'd, and gone to bed. 

John Drew enjoy'd his night's repose, 
And in the morning he arose. 
And having breakfasted, he sped 
Unto the worthy host, and said, 

" Landlord, my warmest thanks are due 
For the great kindness shown by you ; 
You certainly can keep an inn 
As well as I can patch up tin. 

" But still it does not seem to pay. 
And you should find some other way 
To help increase your slender store. 
And keep the gaunt wolf from your door." 

**The inn pays not," the landlord said, 
*' But then I have another trade. 
I am the village glazier here. 
And all that brings is profit clear." 

"Well, good luck to you!" utter'd John, 
As with his budget he trudged on ; 
" I sha'n't forget, my generous brother. 
That one good turn deserves another ! " 



1 84 THE TINKERS MISTAKE. 

Deep gratitude felt stout John Drew, 
The feeling thrill'd him through and through, 
And as the village church he pass'd 
A brilliant idea held him fast. 

He paused awhile in thought profound. 
Then cast a cautious glance around ; 
Then mutter'd firmly, *'I will do it, 
E'en though I'm caught and made to rue it ! " 

Then picking up a stone, John Drew 
A window sent it crashing through ; 
And then stone after stone deliver'd 
Till every pane of glass was shiver'd. 

Back to the inn went John once more, 
And soon the landlord stood before, 
And striving hard his mirth to smother. 
Cried, " One good turn deserves another ! 

" You gave me work my' bread to earn. 
And I the favor now return ; 
O generous host ! upon my soul 
No window in the church is whole. 

" I've smash'd each one, kind friend, and you, 
Will soon have work enough to do. 
For you're a glazier, and you know 
The work won't from the village go ! 

The landlord glared at John amazed : 
Then like one by misfortune crazed. 
He caught him by the throat and swore 
Such oaths as ne'er were heard before. 



MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS, 1 85 

"Wretch ! " he exclaim'd, " why did you so ? 
Your kindness works my overthrow I 
I am the only glazier here, 
But keep the cJmrch ivhole by the year ! " 

MORAL. 

My moral plainly has this end : 
Take no wrong means to help a friend. 
For if from right's clear path you swerve, 
You'll hurt the cause you fain would serve. 



MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS 

ONE day when business was dull, 
And I had time to spare, 
In philosophic mood I sought 

A crowded thoroughfare. 
And there I idly took my stand 

And close attention gave 
To studying the heads of those 
Who pass'd me on the pave. 

"Now, there," I whisper'd to myself, 

"A bull-dog nature goes — 
His head is small, his neck is thick. 

His eye with anger glows. 
His chest is broad, his limbs are strong, 

His look is full of spite, 
'Tis very evident that he. 

In fighting takes delight." 



86 MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS. 

And now one who reminds me 

Of a mastiff, passes by, 
With deep bass voice, square-hanging jaw, 

And watchful, eager eye. 
He may be a detective 

Of energy and skill. 
Who has the bull-dog's strength and pluck 

Without his wish to kill. 



Here comes a human greyhound — 

A fellow lithe and lank, 
Lean-ribb'd and sharp of voice — 

He is a runner for a bank. 
He keeps the chase up constantly. 

With never weary feet. 
Nor does he stop to bother with 

The "lame ducks" on the street. 



And now a small man passes by — 

A nervous little chap — 
Restless, alert, bold, confident, 

And sharp as a steel trap. 
I fancy he's a man of law, 

Presumptuous and defiant, 
He's like a terrier who has 

A fat rat for a client. 



Here comes a man with large mild eyes, 

And glossy, curly hair — 
A figure most symmetrical — 

A brave and honest air. 



MAN AND THE LOWER ANIMALS. 187 

He's like the noble Newfoundland — 

The favorite of all — 
Willing to peril life itself 

When roused by duty's call. 

Then comes a man who carries 

The visage of an owl, 
And an oily, pig-faced man who walks 

With under-hanging jowl. 
A timid, sheep-faced man, who seems 

Of everything in awe ; 
An hirsute man, with lion mane, 

And fierce, terrific roar: 

A stubborn, dull, bull-headed man — 

A man of serpent head — 
A man who has the tiger's look, 

With eye-balls fierce and red. 
In short the lower animals 

Are met with everywhere, 
In those we choose to study 

On a crowded thoroughfare. 



l88 THE IRISH FRENCHMAN. 



THE IRISH FRENCHMAN.- 

AN English ship, by some mischance, 
Once founder'd on the coast of France ; 
But all her crew — at least a score 
Of stalwart sailors — reach'd the shore. 

At first, of course, they could but fret; 
But sailors are a jolly set, 
And seldom long will entertain 
A grief on either land or main. 

So, when they'd mourn'd an hour or two, 
With one consent the hapless crew 
Ceased murm'ring and began to think 
About securing food and drink. 

Ere long they plenty had to eat — 
A good supply of fish and meat — 
But how to cook it knew they not, 
Since they had neither pan nor pot. 

Soon spoke the captain, with a cheer, 
" See yonder smoke ! A cot is near 
Where we could borrow what we seek, 
If we'd a man who French could speak." 

* It is only proper to state that this Poem was suggested by a story en- 
titled " The Gridiron," which may be found in Samuel Lover's " Irish Stories 
and Legends." It may not be as well told, perhaps, as in the original prose, 
but the reader may take it for what it is worth. 



THE IRISH frenchman: 1 89 

"Spake Frinch!" a sailor quick replied — 
An Irishman named Pat McBride — 
**I learn'd the language years ago, 
While I was shtopping at Bordeaux ! " 

*' Have patience, byes dear, ivery one, 

While I to yonder cabin run, 

And in a jiffy yez'U see, 

I'll bring a griddle back wid me ! " 

Away he bounded, like a deer, 
And when he drew the cottage near, 
A grey-hair'd Frenchman he espied. 
Who stood the cabin door beside. 

" Och, polly voo Fransay, monseer 1 " 
He said, with a complaisant leer. 
" Oui, monsieur!" the man replied. 
As he the sailor keenly eyed. 

"Well, thin, a griddle I would borrow — 
I'll let yez have it back to-morrow. 
Perhaps V\\ fetch it back before" — 
The Gaul replied, '' ^e n' eiit ends pas ! '' '•' 

" It isn't yer long tongs I wish," 
Said Pat. "I want to cook some fish, 
Me friends are yonder on the shore." 
The Frenchman said, ^^ Je tientends pas !'' 

Pat stopp'd awhile and scratch'd his head. 
And then again he loudly said, 
" Och, polly voo Fransay — d'ye hear 1 " 
The Gaul replied, *^ Oui, monsietcr !'' 

* "I don't understand!" Pronounced "Zhar nontong par." 



190 THE IRISH FRENCHMAN. 

Poor Paddy now began to rant — 
" Your griddle, not your tongs, I want ! 
So bring it out, and hould yer jaw!" 
The Gaul replied, '* Je nentends pas ! " 

" D'ye mind ! " said Pat, in accents gruff, 
*'I've borne your nonsense long enough — 
And ril not bear it any more ! " 
Still cried the Gaul, *' ye n oitends pas !'' 

" Take that ! " cried Paddy, with a frown, 
As he the hapless Gaul knock'd down ; 
' But still the astonished man did roar, 
'^ Je fi entends pas ! Je nentends pas I '' 

Back to his comrades Paddy flew. 

And soon around him flock'd the crew — 

''What luck! What luck, Pat?" cried they 

all. 
"Troth," answered Pat, *'no luck at all! 

*' Byes, dear, d'ye see, we've fallen among 
Frinchmen who can't shpake their own tongue; 
Bedad, to me it seems a riddle, 
TJiey say ' long tongs ' instead of griddle ! " 

MORAL. 

My moral plainly all can see — 
No one should a pretender be; 
For mere pretense, when put to test, 
Is worse than ignorance confess'd. 



POEMS FOR MUSIC. 



THERE'S GOOD IN THE WORLD. 

THERE'S good in this beautiful world, I am thinking, 
In spite of what splenetic cynics may say ; 
Its sweets we forget, while its bitter we're drinking — 
In the gloom of its night we lose sight of its day. 
When the storm breaks upon us awakening terror, 

We utter our useless complainings aloud. 
Forgetting the while, in our short-sighted error. 
The sun that shines brightly behind every cloud. 

There is good in the world — e'en adversity teaches 

A lesson, if we will but read it aright — 
It shows us our friends and exposes the leeches 

Who only cling to us when all things are bright. 
Oh, when the dark waves of misfortune o'erflow us. 

How ready are some our mistakes to condemn — 
'Tis only 'neath fortune's bright smile some friends know us. 

And in our misfortune we learn to know them. 

There is good in the world— ah, yes, never doubt it — 

The unlucky stroke that awakens despair. 
May come with a halo of friendship about it 

To soften the blow and to lessen your care. 
Oh, is it not sweet, when the world seems so weary, 

And poverty stands like a wolf at your door. 
To find a true man in the wilderness dreary, 

Whose friendship you never had tested before I 
M . ^193) 



194 STAND TO THE RIGHT, 

And such men there are, making life's arid places 

To bloom like a garden — to brighten and bless — 
Their hearts overflowing with love for all races — 

Their ears ever keen for the cry of distress. 
Oh, temple of brotherhood ! Blest is thy portal ! 

The ray from thy lamp to no spot is confined. 
But shines through the world, giving each wretched mortal 

More trust in his Maker, more faith in his kind. 



STAND TO THE RIGHT. 

STAND to the right, whate'er your condition, 
Even though friends may to enemies turn — 
Better have enemies in a just mission, 
Than a dark record of infamy earn. 
Friendship that's fickle is not worth preserving. 

Wealth gain'd by fraud and deceit is a curse — 
Stand by the right, then, undaunted, unswerving, 
Poverty's bad, but dishonesty's worse. 

Stand to the right — it were folly to barter 
Self-independence for station or gain — 

Better to virtue and truth fall a martyr 

Than win a success mix'd with sorrow and pain. 

An unsullied heart and a conscience approving- 
Are worth all the wealth that the world can bestow- 

Stand by the right — be forgiving and loving. 
Asking no favor and fearing no foe. 



WEAR NO ANGER ON THY BROW. 1 95 

Stand to the right ! 'Tis the best and the surest — 

Wrong may appear for a while to succeed — 
But he is most happy whose heart is the purest — 

A self-condemn'd sinner is wretched indeed. 
Hate and detraction in vain may assail thee 

If thou art pure when their arrows they cast — 
Honor and rectitude never will fail thee — 

Stand to the right and you'll triumph at last. 



WEAR NO ANGER ON THY BROW. 

COME, and sit thee down beside me — 
If I've pain'd thee tell me how — 
Nay, my darling, do not chide me — 

Wear no anger on thy brow. 
Yours is not a face for ire — 

Yours no tongue a war to wage — 
Yours no eye to flash forth fire — 
Yours no heart to cherish rage. 

Come, then, sit thee down beside me — 

If I've pained thee tell me how — 
Nay, my darling, do not chide me — 
Wear no anger on thy brow. 

Once in honeyed words sincerest — 

Words I never can forget — 
You confess'd you loved me, dearest, 

And I know you love me yet. 



196 CREEP CLOSE TO MY HEART, O MY DARLING, 

And the depth of my devotion 
I have spoken o'er and o'er, 
And I'll feel the sweet emotion 
'Till my term of life is o'er. 

Come, then, sit thee down beside me — 

If I've pain'd thee, tell me how — 
Nay, my darling, do not chide me — 
Wear no anger on thy brow. 



CREEP CLOSE TO MY HEART, O MY 
DARLING. 

CREEP close to my heart, O my darling ! 
And put up your lips for a kiss. 
And tell me what joy in existence 
Can equal a moment like this t 
I know that time flies while I clasp thee, 

But on let his chariot roll ; 
While near thee, he loses his power. 
Thou life-giving light of my soul ! 

Creep close to my heart, O my darling ! 

I envy no king on his throne, 
While thus in sweet rapture I hold thee, 

My dear one ! my treasure ! my own ! 
Oh ! what would the world be without thee } 

Who else could my lone heart delight 1 
How 'twould darken my life should I lose thee, 

Thou day-star that rose on my night! 



BEAUTIFUL BESSIE. igy 

Creep close to my heart, O my darling ! 

And tell me thy hopes and thy fears ; 
And shouldst thou feel sorrow while talkin^r 

I'll soon kiss away thy bright tears. 
Come, tell me again that you love me, 

That nothing shall tear us apart. 
While I banish thy fears with my kisses — 

Thou radiant queen of my heart I 



BEAUTIFUL BESSIE. 

BEAUTIFUL Bessie, young, joyous, and sweet 
As the flowers that bloom in her sylvan retreat. 
Is weaving a coronet, fragrant and gay. 
For she has been chosen as Queen of the May. 
Yet she heeds not the rosy-cheek'd youth who stands 

near 
And timidly whispers his love in her ear ; 
A beau from the city has turn'd her weak head. 
And she laughs at the rustic who asks her to wed. 

Chorus — O wicked vanity ! 
Fatal insanity ! 

What will it cost "> 
Pride has o'erpower'd her ! 
Sin has devour'd her ! 
Bessie is lost ! 

Beautiful Bessie, once Queen of the May, 

Has thrown her sweet wreath of fresh flowers away, 



)8 BEAUTIFUL BESSIE. 

And changed her old home and her humble attire — 
Denied her low birth and resolved to climb higher. 
And now in a mansion of glitter and show 
She drinks in the words of her grand city beau; 
Gay is the laughter that breaks from her lips, 
Bright are her eyes as the clear wine she sips. 

Chorus — O wicked vanity! 
Fatal insanity ! 

What will it cost? 
Pride has o'erpower'd her ! 
Sin has devour'd her! 

Bessie is lost! 

Beautiful Bessie is out on the street; 
Cold blows the night breeze, and sharp is the sleet; 
But the rude tempest brings with it no smart, 
'Tis not so keen as the storm in her heart. 
Brief was her gay dream, and when she awoke. 
Sad was her waking — her trusting heart broke. 
And ere another day glides o'er her head. 
Beautiful Bessie will sleep with the dead. 

Chorus — O wicked vanity! 
Fatal insanity! 

What has it cost? 
Pride has o'erpower'd her 1 
Sin has devour'd her! 
Bessie is lost! 



COME BACK TO ME. 199 



COME BACK TO ME. 

TOO long have we been parted — 
Come back to me I 
I'm lonely, broken-hearted — 

Come back to me I 
I tread familiar bowers, 
But scentless are the flowers, 
And weary are the hours — 

Come back to me! 

Think of your promise broken — 

Come back to me ! 
Your words of love once spoken — 

Come back to me 1 
Hearts truly pledged forever 
No thoughtless word should sever, 
The past we'll think of never — 

Come back to me I 

I've loved since first I met thee — 

Come back to me ! 

I never can forget thee — 

Come back to me! 

With looks of love I'll meet thee, 

With words of love I'll greet thee ; 

Relent, then, I entreat thee — 

Come back to me! 



200 SHOULD FORTUNE FROWN. 



SHOULD FORTUNE FROWN. 

SHOULD fortune frown, 
Be not cast down; 
The sailor on the ocean, 
When skies grow dark, 
• Prepares his bark 

To meet the storm's commotion. 
And so should we. 
On life's rude sea, 

Be ever up and ready 
To meet each storm 
That comes along 

With courage firm and steady. 

Strive all you can, 
Work like a man 

To compass what you would do ; 
Then if you fail, 
At fate don't rail, 

You've done all that you could do ; 
Hope on, hope ever — 
Dejection never 

Yet won rank or station; 
And toil, though vain. 
At least will gain 

Kind friendship's approbation. 



FRIENDLESS NELLY. 20I 

After a shower, 

The bright-hued flower 

Will only look the brighter; 
So should the heart 
By sorrow's smart 

Be render'd purer, lighter. 
No man should fear 
The ills met here, 

With providence above him ; 
A constant mind, 
A soul resign'd, 

And one true heart to love him. 



FRIENDLESS NELLY. 

LITTLE Nelly, pale with hunger, 
Wanders through the street, 
Heavy is her heart with sorrow, 

Weary are her feet. 
Penniless she journeys homeward. 

Shivering with dread, 
For her father is a drunkard, 

And her mother's dead. 
What a sad, sad lot for Nelly, 

Nelly meek and mild! 
Heavenly Father, oh ! in pity 

Shield the drunkard's child. 



202 FRIENDLESS NELLY. 

Nelly's eyes are large and lustrous, 

Golden is her hair, 
And she has a sweet expression, 

Nelly's very fair. 
But the child's unearthly beauty. 

That should be her crown, 
All too soon may prove the burden 

That will drag her down. 
What a sad, sad lot for Nelly, 

Nelly meek and mild! 
Heavenly Father, oh! in pity 

Shield the drunkard's child. 

Nelly's character is spotless. 

She is pure as snow; 
Can she, in the wicked city, 

Keep forever so.'* 
Sin, and sorrow, and temptation. 

Still her steps pursue ; 
Motherless, with no adviser. 

What will Nelly do .? 
What a sad, sad lot for Nelly, 

Nelly meek and mild ! 
Heavenly Father, oh! in pity 

Shield the drunkard's child. 



woman: 203 



A 



WOMAN. 

HEALTH to the lass with the laughing bkie eye, 
That seems to have borrow'd its hue from the sky — 
Where young love is constantly feeding his flame, 
And virtue sits blocking the entrance to shame. 
Who weeps with the mourning and laughs with the gay, 
Who can comfort old age or with infancy play, 
Who quarrels with no one, but sticks to her creed- 
Here's to her, for she is a woman indeed! 

And here's to the girl with the lustrous black eye, 
Who one moment may laugh and the next moment sigh ; 
Whose heart is a casket of joy and of grief, 
And the first knows no limit, the last no relief. 
Who deeply doth love, but as deeply can hate— 
A Christian, and yet a believer in fate— 
Who for pity will weep, or in anger will kill- 
Here's her health— she is one of the softer sex still 1 

Here's to the coquette with the optic of gray, 
Who will never say yes, but can hardly say nay; 
Who falls dead in love with each gay beau she sees, 
But can never find one for a long time to please. 
Who is anxious to marry, and yet is afraid; 
Who lives a young ninny, and dies an old maid ; 
Though blameful her follies it must be confess'd. 
Yet her health— she's a woman as well as the rest. 



204 THE OLD KNICKERBOCKER'S SONG. 

In fine, here's to woman — the large and the small, 
The lean and the fleshy, the short and the tall, 
The dark eye, the blue eye, the hazel and gray, 
The cheerful and sullen, the grave and the gay. 
I care not how faulty their natures may be — 
They are women — which fact is sufficient for me ; 
As mother, friend, sister, maid, widow, or wife, 
They are God's best gift to man, the consolers of life. 



THE OLD KNICKERBOCKER'S SONG. 

GIVE me the good old days again. 
When hearts were true and manners plain; 
When boys were boys till fully grown, 
And baby belles were never known ; 
When doctors' bills were light and few, 
And lawyers had not much to do; 
When honest toil was well repaid. 
And theft had not become a trade. 

Give me the good old days again, 
When cider was not called champagne. 
And round the fire in wintry weather. 
Nuts and dry jokes were crack'd together; 
When girls their lovers battled for 
With seeds from juicy apple's core, 
While mam and dad looked on with glee, 
Well pleased their merriment to see. 

Give me the good old days again. 
When only healthy stock was slain; 



THE OLD KNICKERBOCKER'S SONG. 205 

When flour was pure, and milk was sweet, 
And sausages were fit to eat ; 
When children early went to bed, 
And ate no sugar on their bread ; 
When lard was not turned into butter, 
And tradesmen only truth would utter. 

Give me the good old days again, 
When women were not proud and vain ; 
When fashion did not sense outrun, 
And tailors had no need to dun; 
When wealthy parents were not fools. 
And common sense was taught in schools ; 
When hearts were warm and friends were true, 
And Satan had not much to do. 

Give me the good old days again. 
Ere fraud and violence had reign ; 
When voters did not look for booty, 
And judges dared to do their duty. 
When patriots were not bought and sold. 
But work'd for country — not for gold; 
When every citizen could vote 
Without a dagger at his throat. 

Give me the good old days again, 
When our exchequer felt no drain ; 
When men in place to '' grind their axes," 
Swell'd not our public debts and taxes. 
When alms-house keepers had some feeling, 
And lived in clover without stealing. 
Alas ! alas ! I sigh in vain 
To see those good old days again. 



206 YOU'LL WEEP WHEN I AM DEAD, 



YOU^LL WEEP WHEN I AM DEAD. 

SMILE while thou canst, be gay and unheeding, 
Riches and splendor at last are thine own; 
Strive to forget that a true heart is bleeding, 

Proud in its anguish, but wretched and lone. 
And when the clouds of despair hover o'er thee. 
When the false friends of thy summer have fled. 
Then will my sorrowing shade flit before thee ; 
False to me living, you'll weep when I'm dead. 

Blithesome and free in life's morning you found me, 

Sorrow had never o'ershadow'd my brow ; 
Bright fell the sunlight of sweet peace around me — 

Where, O thou fickle one ! where is it now 1 
Gone ! like the light on the verge of the ocean, 

Raised by false hands to allure the doom'd bark — 
Suddenly quench'd 'mid the wild storm's commotion. 

Leaving the wreck'd ones to grope in the dark. 

Gay is thy dream, but soon comes the dawning, 

When thou'lt awaken to sorrow and shame; 
Wealth fleeth like the light mists of the morning, 

And there's no bubble more empty than fame. 
Ah! then, when clouds of despair hover o'er thee. 

When the false friends of thy summer have fled. 
My mournful shade will, I know, flit before thee — 

False to me living, you'll weep when I'm dead. 



WHAT ARE THE SAD WAVES SAYING? 20/ 



WHAT ARE THE SAD WAVES SAYING? 

WHAT are the sad waves saying 
Evermore, 
As they in ceaseless playing 

Kiss the shore ? 
They are saying, 
In their swaying, 

O'er and o'er : 
'* On the shore we're dying — 
Time is onward flying — 
And life's waves are rolling 
Beyond man's controlling 

Evermore ! " 

What are the sad waves saying 

Evermore, 
As they in ceaseless playing 

Kiss the shore ? 
They are saying, 
In their swaying, 

O'er and o'er : 
*'Joy has no to-morrow, 
Life is full of sorrow. 
And the restless ocean 
Types the soul's commotion 

Evermore." 



208 WHAT ARE THE SAD WAVES SAYING? 

What are the sad waves saying 

Evermore, 
As they in ceaseless playing 

Kiss the shore ? 
They are saying, 
In their swaying, 

O'er and o'er : 
'' O ye lovers walking. 
Fondly, sweetly talking 

On the strand, 
Fervent vows, rose-tinted, 
Are like lines imprinted 

On the sand." 

What are the sad waves saying 

Evermore, 
As they in ceaseless playing 

Kiss the shore ? 
They are saying. 
In their swaying, 

O'er and o'er : 
'^ Foolish boy or maiden. 
Dreaming of sweet Aiden 

On the shore. 
Time will prove your treasures 
And your keenest pleasures 

Day-dreams — nothing morel" 



WHY ART THOU COLD? 209 



WHY ART THOU COLD? 

WHY art thou cold and careless while I'm near 
thee ? 
Has thy vain heart proved recreant to me ? 
Dost thou seek other eyes and lips to cheer thee ? 

And art thou really anxious to be free? 
With all my soul, then, let us kiss and sever, 
I would not hold thee captive 'gainst thy will. 

thou once wildly loved! farewell forever, 
Thy voice will ne'er again my pulses thrill. 

Thou art false to me — another kneels before thee 
To whisper love in thy too willing ear. 

To swear that he forever will adore thee — 
I hope for thy sake that he is sincere. 

As for myself, I'm willing he should woo thee, 
I'm willing thou shouldst call him all thine own, 

1 would not whisper one objection to thee ; 

. I love thee not, my heart has callous grown. 

'Tis vain to say that love, though scorn'd and slighted 

Day after day, will suffer and live on ; 
By cold neglect the fondest love is blighted, 

It lives not when its aliment is gone. 
I loved thee once, and would have loved forever, 

Hadst thou been true and loyal unto me ; 
The spell is broken — thou art free, and never 

Shall my proud heart deplore the loss of thee. 



210 CJHAZV ESTELLE, 



CRAZY ESTELLE. 

IN the great city she wanders alone ; 
None to befriend her — uncared for, unknown- 
Muttering ever of joys that have fled, 
Calling on some one who sleeps with the dead. 
What her life's story is no one can tell — 
She is known only as Crazy Estelle. 
No one to pity her, none to caress — 
God help the wanderer in her distress. 

CHORUS. 

No one to pity her, none to caress — 
God help the wanderer in her distress ! 

Hopelessly lost in the city's vast throng, 
Sadly she warbles a plaintive love-song ; 
Looking around her, but looking in vain. 
For a loved face she will ne'er see again. 
Wild is her dark eye and frenzied her air, 
And her white brow is convulsed by despair ; 
But not a wicked thought enters her head. 
She only seeks for a lover that's dead. 

CHORUS. 

No one to pity her, none to caress — 
God help the wanderer in her distress ! 



THE LASS OF CLOVER LANE. 211 

What will become of her out in the street? 
Heart-sick and foot-sore, no happy retreat; 
Who will take care of her? Where can she go? 
Wretched, forlorn, and o'erburden'd with woe. 
No one on earth can the wanderer save, 
And she will only find rest in the grave. 
Guard her, bright angels, where'er she may tread, 
Seeking in vain for her lover that's dead. 

CHORUS. 

No one to pity her, none to caress — 
God help the wanderer in her distress ! 



THE LASS OF CLOVER LANE. 

SWEET are the flowers which bloom around 
The cot where I was born, 
And sweet the melody of birds 

That greet the early morn. 
Sweet are the daisies and blue-bells 

That gem the verdant plain, 
But sweeter than all these to me. 
My lass of Clover Lane. 

There is no perfume like her breath, 

Nor do the birds excel 
The music of her merry laugh. 

Clear as a silver bell. 
Pure as a daisy wash'd with dew — 

As modest, neat and plain — 
The queen of love and beauty is 

My lass of Clover Lane. 



212 THE LASS OF CLOVER LANE. 

The city belle whose cheeks are red 

With artificial bloom, 
And whose rich gems flash brilliantly 

In ball or concert-room, 
May please the pamper'd man of wealth, 

Conceited, proud, and vain; 
But I will pay my homage to 

The lass of Clover Lane. 

My darling has no jewels rare, 

Nor can she boast of wealth ; 
But she is rich in innocence, sweet peace, 

And robust health. 
She weeps with those oppress'd by woe. 

And at the couch of pain 
She is an angel minister. 

My lass of Clover Lane. 

So natural, so beautiful. 

So free from guile or art — 
Oh ! joy to press her to my breast. 

And wear her in' my heart. 
Should death my angel snatch from me, 

I'd never smile again ; 
My heart would wither should it lose 

The lass of Clover Lane. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



A -CAPITAL" THEME. 

THE burning rays of the midday sun 
Pour down on the city's pave, 
And 'neath its glare full many a one 

Is hastening to the grave. 
While Mammon sits in her cool retreat, 

Far from the town's turmoil, 
And cries with glee, - The dust and heat 
Were made for the sons of toil! 
Their muscle and bone 
Are mine alone — 

I use them at my will— 
And what care I 
How fast they die, 

If they my coffers fill ? " 

A laborer from the giddy height 
Of a ladder's topmost round, 
Struck by the sun-ray's scorching blight. 

Comes toppling to the ground. 
And Capital takes of his wine a sup, 

While looking on with a frown. 
And says, ''Our tenements must go up 
If laborers do come down I" 

Their muscle and bone 
Are mine alone — • 

(215) 



2l6 A ''CAPITAL'' THEME. 

I use them at my will — 
And what care I 
How fast they die, 

If they my coffers fill?" 

A widow, wild with grief, bends o'er 

The corpse of a stalwart man, 
Who but a little while before 

His earthly course had 'ran. 
And Capital, viewing the woman's distress, 

Cries out in a tone of ire, 
" Canals and railroads must progress 
If laborers do expire ! " 
Their muscle and bone 
Are mine alone — 

I use them at my will — 
And what care I 
How fast they die. 

If they my coffers fill?" 

Again, what dreadful sight has made 

That mother's cheek to blench? 
Her son has dug with pick and spade 

A grave as well as a trench ! 
And Capital cries, with mirthful eyes, 

*' Oh ! ho ! my workers brave. 
Delve if you die the death, for I 
Must surely trenches have !" 
Your muscle and bone 
Are mine alone — 

I use them at my will — 
And what care I 



A CAPITAL'' THEME. 217 

How fast they die, 

If they my coffers fill?" 

"Ye are all the slaves of my potent will, 

As well as your babes and wives, 
And I would not nourish your worth and skill, 

Not even to save your lives ! 
Ye shall fetch, and carry, and dig, and hew, 

Beneath the broiling sun. 
Or ye shall starve — now which will ye do? — 
For mercy I have none ! " 
Your muscle and bone 
Are mine alone — 

I use them at my will — 
And what care I 
How fast they die. 

If they my coffers fill ? " 



2l8 / DON'T CARE. 



'a DON'T CARE!" 

T DON'T care ! " How many troubles 

A From these hateful words have sprung ? 
Far too often falls the sentence 

From the lips of old and young. 
How it lowers man's true standard ! 

How it hurries to despair ! 
Spleen, and spite, and hate are nourish'd 

In the baleful "I don't care 1" 

''I don't care!" Oh! why so common 

Should this vile expression be ? 
Did it ever soothe a sorrow, 

Or to flight put misery ? 
Did it e'er dispel a shadow, 

Or bring sunshine anywhere ? 
Came there ever yet a blessing 

With the spiteful **I don't care?" 

Pauper, in thy wretched garret, 

Did it ever bring thee gold ? 
Maiden, did it mend the quarrel 

Which arose when love grew cold? 
Sailor on the boundless ocean, 

Would you ever danger dare 
On a ship, however worthy, 

With the captain **I don't care?" 



/ DON'T CARE. 219 

Heart-crush'd pilgrim on life's highway, 

Did it ever bring thee balm? 
Toiler roused by man's injustice, 

Did it e'er thy spirit calm? 
Christian reaching after heaven, 

Did it ever lead to prayer? 
Parent, did thy child's amendment 

Ever follow "I don't care?" 

Many a wretch in anguish groaning, 

Rack'd and wasted by disease; 
Many a thief his crime atoning 

In his sin-bought miseries; 
Many a low-brow'd, ruthless murd'rer 

Doom'd to dangle in the air, 
Owe the climax of their follies 

To the reckless ^*I don't care!" 

"I don't care!" Oh! let the sentence 

Never pass your lips again. 
It can never bring you pleasure. 

But it may engender pain. 
'Mid all Satan's vile inventions, 

None more surely can ensnare 
Than the worthless, good-for-nothing, 

Stupid saying, " I don't care ! " 



220 IMPROVE YOUR TIME. 



IMPROVE YOUR TIME. 

IMPROVE your time— the hours fly, 
And every breath we draw- 
Brings our swift footsteps nearer 

To Death's eternal shore. 
Considering vast eternity, 

Life but a span appears, 

Although we may permitted be 

To live a hundred years. 

The glorious sun at morning 

Breaks from his rosy bed, 
And brightens, till at noonday 

He greets us overhead. 
Then to the west descending, 

He hides his brilliant light, 
And quickly falls around us 

The sombre pall of night. 

So with man's course — all jocund 

Is his fresh morning time. 
And strengthening he progresses 

Till he has reach'd his prime ; 
Then down the hill descending 

Time slowly saps his bloom. 
Till aged and exhausted 

He drops into the tomb. 



LOOK AHEAD. 221 

Remember, then, ye thoughtless, 

By youth and strength sustained, 
An hour idly wasted 

Can never be regain'd. 
The past is gone forever — 

The future is unknown — 
But the present still is with you. 

And that is all your own. 



LOOK AHEAD. 



YOUTH of bright eye and smooth white brow. 
So happy and exultant now, 
Viewing the brilliant sky above. 
Thy bosom full of faith and love — 
Love on, hope on, but still reflect. 
The stanchest ship is . sometimes wreck'd. 
Clouds will obscure the brightest sky. 
Fancies most prized take wing and fly — 
Weep not the past, for that is dead — 
And for the future have no dread. 
But look ahead ! 

Man of mature years, full of care. 
With threads of silver in thy hair. 
Fretting thyself o'er chances lost. 
Thy life-bark sadly tempest-tost — 
Deem not that you have lived in vain, 
The chances lost may come again. 



222 THE FIREMAN'S DEATH. 

Up ! up ! and work ! be not cast down — 
The sombre clouds that on thee frown 
May, ere another day has fled, 
Disperse, and sunshine banish dread — 
So look ahead ! 

Decrepit pilgrim, nearly home. 
Fear not the change that soon must come- 
All living walk toward the grave — 
God only takes the life He gave. 
Let thy thoughts dwell on things above 
And rest content, for ''God is Love." 
Then youth, strong man, or pilgrim gray, 
Remember, while ye toil to-day, 
The earth at last must be thy bed, 
Strive not for dross — 'tis best instead 
To look ahead ! 



THE FIREMAN'S DEATH. 

HE slept, and o'er his dauntless brow a shade of 
sorrow stole. 
As though some scene of deep distress was busy with 

his soul. 
When suddenly the dread alarm came ringing shrill and 

clear. 
Cleaving the night air till it struck upon his startled ear. 
He bounded up ! His practiced eye , 
Was turn'd upon the lurid sky. 
Lit by the flames which, mounting higher, 
Soon clothed the night in a robe of fire. 



AT SEA UPON LIFE'S OCEAN. 



223 



With lightning speed he reach'd the scene — oh! what 

a sight was there ! 
A mother stood amid the flames, and shriek'd in wild 

despair ! 
Her arms around her frighten'd babe were thrown with 

frenzied clasp, 
As though she fear'd the fire-fiend would tear it from 
her grasp. 
With helmet turned, through flame and smoke 
The gallant fellow fearless broke; 
He saved them both, but ah! his life 
Was lost in the unequal strife. 

Now in sweet Greenwood's peaceful shade the noble 

hero sleeps, 
And o'er his grave full many a friend in silent sorrow 

weeps, 
A monument erected there is pointed to with pride 
By those with whom he oft has fought the fire, side by 
side. 
Sweet flowers exhale their fragrant breath 
Where now he calmly sleeps in death. 
And trees their spreading branches wave 
Around his solemn Greenwood grave. 



AT SEA UPON LIFE'S OCEAN. 

AT sea — we're all at sea upon life's ocean, 
And none can boast a never-failing chart — 
Sail as we may we'll meet with dread commotion, 
And hidden shoals to terrify the heart. 



224 AT SEA UPON- LIFE'S OCEAN. 

The wisest and most prudent at the helm 

May in some fatal hour the wrong course take, 

But treacherous seas will surely overwhelm 
The mariner who laughs at woe and wreck. 

We're all at sea — some favor'd ones, enchanted, 

Float peacefully upon the placid tide. 
While others with sad doubts and fears are haunted, 

And ever on the roughest billows ride. 
This difference should not to wonder move us — 

'Tis true the law we fail to understand. 
But then 'twas wisely framed by One above us 

Who holds the mighty ocean in His hand. 

We're all at sea ! God help that sordid creature 

Who grimly gloating o'er his golden hoard. 
With avarice making hideous every feature, 

Heeds not that dreadful cry, ''Man overboard!" 
No rest for him afloat ; and when disaster 

Shall lay him on the ocean broad a wreck, 
The gold which he has worship'd as a master 

A fearful weio'ht shall hansf about his neck. 



'&' 



We're all at sea ! and 'tis our common duty 

To help a fellow sailor in distress ; 
Hard gain'd indeed will be that race or booty 

To win which leaves on earth one light heart less. 
Then let us while we're sailing on life's ocean, 

Bless'd by soft gales, beneath kind fortune's star, 
Still keep a bright lookout with deep devotion 

For those who in their path less favor'd are. 



THE HONEST WORKING GIRL. 22$ 



THE HONEST WORKING GIRL. 

THE air is chill, the city's pave 
Is slippery and wet ; 
The child of wealth and luxury 

Is wrapp'd in slumber yet; 
The sleet and snow are rushing by 

In many an angry whirl, 

While hurries to her daily toil 

The honest working girl. 

No word have I 'gainst gold to say, 

If it be fairly earn'd ; 
And fairly used by rich men, who 

Sweet charity have learned. 
The generous merchant may with pride 

His banner broad unfurl. 
Bat prouder is the record of 

The honest working girl. 

Her clothes, though not the finest, 

Are the best that she can wear; 
Her fingers boast no diamonds, 

But her face is very fair; 
Her eyes are bright, and when she smiles 

She shows her teeth of pearl ; 
And love dwells in the bosom of 

The honest working girl. 



226 THE HONEST WORKING GIRL. 

With wages scant the ills of life 

She's fated to endure ; 
And yet she manages to save 

A trifle for the poor. 
At any mean or sordid act, 

With scorn her lip will curl, 
■ For noble is the nature of 

The honest working girl. 

Then treat her kindly, ye proud ones, 

Who ''neither toil nor spin;" 
She has to struggle very hard 

Her daily bread to win. 
And he — though dress'd in finest cloth — 

Would be a very churl, 
Who would not, if appeal'd to, help 

The honest working girl. 

God bless the modest, gentle ones 

Who labor day by day! 
And God bless those with means to spare, 

Who help them on their way ! 
Ye who would, in the better land, 

Possess the priceless pearl. 
Treat not with scorn, nor cold contempt, 

The honest working girl. 



IF YOU CAN'T PRAISE YOUR NEIGHBOR. 22/ 



IF YOU CAN'T PRAISE YOUR NEIGH- 
BOR, DON'T NAME HIM AT ALL. 



IN our judgment of others, we mortals are prone 
To talk of their faults without heeding our own ; 
And this little rule should be treasured by all : 
"■ If you can't praise your neighbor, don't name him at all." 

Men's deeds are compounded of glory and shame, 
And surely 'tis sweeter to praise than to blame ; 
Perfection has never been known since the fall — 
*'If you can't praise your neighbor, don't name him at all." 

Remember, ye cynics, the mote and the beam ; 
Pause in your fault-finding and ponder the theme ; 
Who has the least charity, quickest will fall — 
" If you can't praise your neighbor, don't name him at all." 

If we would endeavor our own faults to mend, 

We'd have all the work to which we could attend : 

Then let us be open to charity's call — 

"• If you can't praise your neighbor, don't name him at all." 



228 THE CUBAN VOLUNTEER'S FAREWELL. 



THE CUBAN VOLUNTEER'S FAREWELL. 

COMRADES, I am surely dying, 
Home again I ne'er shall see ; 
Would that I had died in battle, 

But it was not so to be ; 
Dying in this loathsome dungeon, 

But my pain will soon be o'er; 
How my failing pulse would quicken, 

Could I face the foe once more! 
Death I do not fear, my brothers ; 

I have met him o'er and o'er; 
I would die without a murmur. 

Could I face the foe once more. 

When brave, struggling Cuba call'd me, 

I the summons did attend ; 
Tell my father, if you see him, 

I was faithful to the end. 
Give this Bible to my mother ; 

Since our tearful last good-by, 
It has been my close companion, 

And has taught me how to die. 
Death I do not fear, my brothers, 

I have faced him o'er and o'er ; 
I would die without a murmur, 

Could I meet the foe once more, 



THE CUBAN VOLUNTEER'S FAREWELL. 22g 

Now the shadows gather round me, 

And my Hfe is ebbing fast ; 
Bear me, comrades, to the window, 

On the sun I'd look my last. 
Farewell, now, my heart-sick brothers. 

You will join me by and by ; 
If you perish here, remember, 

'Tis for freedom you will die. 
Death I do not fear, my brothers, 

I have faced him o'er and o'er; 
I would die without a murmur. 

Could I meet the foe once more. 

Fiends of Spain ! Incarnate devils ! 

Cuba's sons shall yet be free ! 
All your cruelty and venom 

Cannot crush out Liberty ! 
Still survives the holy passion 

That has carried us thus far — 
Soon will beam on the horizon 

Cuba's independence star ! 
Death I do not fear, my brothers, 
I have faced him o'er and o'er ; 
I would die without a murmur. 

Could I meet the foe once more. 



230 *'/ CAN'T!'' AND 'TLL TRY: 



I CAN'T!" AND -I'LL TRY. 



U 



T CAN'T ! " exclaims the truant boy, 



While loitering on the way; 
" I can't ! " repeats the imbecile, 

Whose locks are streak'd with gray ; 
" I can't ! " It is the common phrase 

Of all inclined to fly 
When dangers menace ; but the brave 

Would rather say, ''I'll try!" 

'' I can't ! " It stultifies the soul 

And palsies all within ; 
'Tis made the flimsy, weak excuse 

• For each besetting sin. 
And many an ill that stays by us 

Away would quickly fly, 
If we would hold our heads erect 

And firmly say, *' I'll try!" 

The drunkard says, " I can't ! " when he 

Is counselled to abstain ; 
The sluggard drawls, " I can't ! " when told 

By work his bread to gain. 
The harden'd thief exclaims, '' I can't 

Temptation's door go by ! " 
But each his fault could master 

If he'd stoutly say, ''I'll try!" 



"/ CAN'T r' AND ''I'LL TRYP 23 1 

*'I can't!" Had Fulton thus exclaim'd 
When jeer'd at as insane ; 

Or bold Columbus when his crew- 
Revolted on the main ; 

Or brave Galileo, when forced 
His theory to disown; 

Or Morse, when pinch'd by poverty 
And struggling on alone — 

Had these brave souls, and many more 

Who won the wreath of fame, 
Sat down to murmur and lament 

When difficulties came. 
How many blessings we should miss 

Which make us glad to-day, 
And what a sombre cloud would on 

The hill of science lay. 

"■ I can't ! " Oh ! drpp the hateful phrase, 

Ye toilers everywhere ; 
Be earnest on life's battle-field, 

Fail not to do and dare ! 
Faint not, if stern reverses come. 

But fix your faith on high. 
And let your noble motto be, 

"With God's good help, I'll try!" 



:32 LINES WRITTEN IN " OUR CARRIES'' ALBUM. 



LINES WRITTEN IN "OUR CARRIE'S^ 
ALBUM. 

LUSTROUS eyes revealing 
Young Love peeping through, 
Heart of warmest feeling, 
Nature kind and true ; 
Lineaments which tell us 

Thou wert born to bless, 
Friendship's counsel zealous, 
Gentle Carrie S. 

Full of toil and sorrow 

Is this weary life, 
Each succeeding morrow 

Brings its care and strife ; 
But may heavenly power 

Shield thee from distress. 
Guard thee every hour. 

Trusting Carrie S. 

Time may overcome thee. 

Touch thy hair with gray, 
Steal thy beauty from thee. 

Take thy strength away ; 
But thy sotil will never 

Lose its loveliness ; 
TJiat will bloom forever. 

Truthful Carrie S. 



A PLEA FOR CUBA. 233 



A PLEA FOR CUBA. 

FREEMEN of our great republic, 
Bend to heaven the knee — 
Raise your hands and shout the chorus, 

Cuba shall be free! 
Spain, vile Spain, with steel and halter. 
Hovers over freedom's altar. 
Cowards are we if we falter — 
Strike for liberty ! 

By the graves of our brave sires, 

By their great deeds done. 
By sweet freedom's sacred fires 

Lit at Lexington ; 
By our blood-cemented nation, 
By each bondman's aspiration. 
By our hopes of dear salvation. 

Do not Cuba shun! 

Hark! across the stormy waters 

Comes a piteous cry ; 
'Tis from Cuba's sons and daughters, 

''Will ye let us die?" 
Freemen, up! No longer dally! 
Round fair Cuba's standard rally, 
From the mountain and the valley — 

Cause her foes to fly! 



234 TAKE IT EASY! 

Shall Spain's stabbers wield the sabre, 

Fiush'd with victory ? 
God forbid ! Let's pray and labor ! 

Cuba must be free ! 
Clamor for her recognition, 
Hurl her tyrants to perdition, 
Thus may we fulfil our mission, 

Death to slavery ! 



TAKE IT EASY! 

TAKE -it easy, men of muscle ! 
Take it easy, men of brain ! 
You may stumble if you hurry. 

And you nothing then will gain. 
Any work that's worth the doing 

Surely is worth doing well ; 
Rather than by haste destroy it. 
Better stop and breathe a spell. 

Take it easy, mirthful maidens ! 

Take it easy, girls and boys 1 
Every pleasure rashly foUow'd, 

In the end too surely cloys. 
Never haste to grasp the shadow 

When the substance is secure ! 
Trust me, there is health and safety 

In the motto, ** Slow and sure." 



THE KERNEL AND THE NUT. 235 

Take it easy, slave of passion ! 

Hasty words will nothing gain ; 
While your breast is fill'd with anger, 

All your work will be in vain. 
Curb your temper till cool reason 

Has a chance to play its part, 
And your task will be the easier, 

And the purer be your heart. 

Take it easy, mourning pilgrim ! 

Sad at heart and sick at soul, 
Why shouldst thou, when heaven is certain. 

Be so swift to reach the goal .'' 
Wait God's time, and thy probation 

On the earth will soon be o'er, 
And thou'lt wrestle with temptation 

And heart-sorrow nevermore. 



THE KERNEL AND THE NUT. 

" He who would eat the kernel must not complain because obliged to 
crack the nut." — Old Saying. 

YE who in this changeful life 
Not a ray of joy can see. 
Ye who foster care and strife. 

Never from excitement free; 
Ye who never seek for peace. 
Hoping it will seek for you, 
Daily will your woes increase, 

And you'll find this maxim true : 



236 THE KERNEL AND THE NUT. 

Earthly joys and joys supernal 

From the sluggard mind are shut; 

If you wish to taste the kernel, 

First you'll have to crack the nut. 

Life's stream seldom smoothly flows, 

And at times we're forced to mourn 
But who would reject the rose 

Even though it has its thorn ? 
By hard labor we may seize 

Pleasure from the lap of pain. 
If we idly take our ease. 

We shall look for joy in vain. 
Earthly joys and joys supernal 

From the sluggard mind are shut; 
If you wish to taste the kernel. 

First you'll have to crack the nut. 

Should misfortune weigh you down, 

Never yield to dark despair; 
Take the cross and win the crown, 
Toil for good and laugh at care. 
Resolutely strive and plan. 

Inactivity is vain. 
What would pleasure be to man 
If he never tasted pain.^ 
Earthly joys and joys supernal 

From the sluggard mind are shut; 
If you wish to taste the kernel, 

First you'll have to crack the nut. 



FOLD UP THE STARRY BANNER. 237 



FOLD UP THE STARRY BANNER. 

FOLD up the starry banner, 
And put it out of sight — 
'Tis laugh'd at by the minions 

Of tyranny and spite. 
All impotent it flutters 
Upon the open sea, 
And who shall dare to call it 
The banner of the free ? 

Fold up the starry banner — 

Its rainbow glories drape, 
In deep humility and woe. 

With sombre, solemn crape. 
The eagle that watch'd o'er it 

Looks down in sad surprise, 
And the goddess of sweet freedom 

Is weeping where it lies. 

Fold up the starry banner, 

And hoist the hated rag 
Of vile Spain to replace it — 

Columbia has no flag. 
Her ships are free no longer, 

Her gallant tars are slaves, 
And all that may be taken 

Are doom'd to bloody graves. 



238 THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. 

Fold up the starry banner, 

For sad Columbia weeps, 
And Tyranny is gorged with blood, 

While Freedom soundly sleeps, 
Or if she does not slumber. 

She lies subdued and tame, 
And all who gloried in her 

Are bow'd by grief and shame, 

Fold up the starry banner, 

Nor let it wave again 
Till it can have its proper place 

Above the rag of Spain. 
Then let it flash its glories 

Upon the land and sea. 
And those who love it strike one blow 

For Cuba's liberty. 



THE GODDESS OF LIBERTY. 

(written on the fourth of JULY.) 

OH, Goddess of Liberty, radiant and joyous. 
Look down on thy favorite nation to-day — 
Permit no dissensions nor cares to annoy us — 

Drive every shadow of discord away. 
Come in thy rare beauty, a laurel-wreath wearing- 
Come with the flag of the free in thy hand — 
Come in thy eloquent language declaring 
Freedom shall never depart from our land. 



WORIC 239 

Speak to us of our dead patriots and sages — 

The foremost of heroes — " the salt of the earth" — 
Whose virtue and fame shall descend to the ages 

While freedom's disciples prize honor and worth. 
Recall to our minds how the war tocsin sounded 

In '* seventy-six," when each sire and son 
With shouts of defiance upon the foe bounded 

Till tyranny perish'd and freedom was won. 

Oh, beautiful goddess, be thou ever near us, 

To guide and direct us in war or in peace — 
To strengthen when faint, when despondent to cheer us — 

When doubting, our faith in our laws to increase. 
Then still shall our land, like a beacon-fire burnino-, 

Invite the oppress'd of all nations to come. 
While their desolate heart are for sympathy yearning, 

And find a sure refuge in freedom's bright home. 



WORK. 

AROUSE, thou sluggard! Leave thy bed so dear. 
Nor longer in thy drowsy chamber lurk ; 
Walk forth with open eye and listening ear, 

And let kind Nature teach thee how to work. 
Turn where you may, each thing in nature's school 

The tale of constant motion will rehearse ; 
Nothing is idle — labor is the rule 

Which regulates the mighty universe. 



240 WORK. 

By work the ever active honest bee 

With store melUfluous supplies his hive; 
The tiny ant by constant industry 

Garners up food to keep himself alive ; 
Even the plants, whose flowers pass from view 

In winter hoar, are toiling in the earth 
For sustenance the dreary season through, 

To give, when Spring-time comes, more sweet buds birth. 

By work, the bright stream, singing merrily, 

Is kept pellucid in its onward flow; 
Check its glad action — curb its motion free — 

And it will stagnant and oflensive grow. 
'Tis motion that each planet bright upholds 

Steady and constant in its proper sphere, 
As in its course it ever onward rolls — 

'Tis motion that keeps pure the atmosphere. 

Then heed the lesson, sluggard! Man was made 

Greater than earth, or air, or stars on high; 
For these will surely into nothing fade — 

The soul's immortal and it cannot die. 
But by inaction man may torpid grow. 

And drone his life away in useless dreams, 
Just as the evils of inaction show 

In stagnant, fetid, death-exhaling streams. 



HARD LUCK. 



241 



HARD LUCK. 

I TOOK my place the other day 
On board a ferry-boat, 
And look'd around as is my wont, 

The passengers to note. 
Two young mechanics going home 

From work was standing near, 
Whose colloquy I listen'd to, 
And will repeat it here. 

" O Jack ! " said one, " the other day 

I fell against Tom Duff, 
And I tell you I pitied him, 

He look'd so awful rough. 
His toggery was all in rags, 

No shoes were on his feet, 
In fact he look'd as hard a case 

As any on the street. 

*^ I asked about his family. 

His wife, he said, was dead, 
And his two little children 

Were suffering for bread. 
He'd had no work for nigh a month. 

And gone was all his pluck; 
He never could succeed, because 

He'd had such horrid luck." 
p 



242 HARD LUCK. 

Jack listen'd to his friend's report, 

And then he heaved a sigh, 
And then he said, '' I pity Tom ; but Bob, 

'Twixt you and I, 
This horrid luck we hear about, 

Unless I am mistaken. 
Instead of being sent to us 

Is often of our makin'. 



" Now, Tom and I were 'prentice boys 

Together, as you know, 
And he was very quick to learn. 

While I was very slow. 
He always could earn more than me. 

And dress'd like any buck; 
But he could never keep a cent. 

He had such awful luck. 

"He had no one to work for — 

His wages, every cent, 
Were his — while I was forced to pay 

My widow'd mother's rent. 
And yet so awful was his luck, 

He never had a dime. 
And he has borrow'd stamps from me 

To get beer many a time. 



" Both of us married early. 
And both got thrifty wives ; 

There should have been no difference 
In the current of our lives. 



HARD LUCK, 243 

If anything, my expenses 

Were the greatest; for you see 
While Tom has but two little ones, 

Kind Heaven has sent me three. 



"Tom's wife was young and beautiful, 

But wasn't very strong, 
And being obliged to work so hard, 

She couldn't stand it long. 
She never ventured out of doors, 

But to her babies stuck. 
While Tom sat in some drinking-shop 

A-growling at his luck. 



" Now, I've no reason to complain, 

I'm doing very well ; 
Sometimes indeed when work gives out 

I have an idle spell ; 
But then I always try to keep 

A stamp or two ahead. 
And never yet have had to hear 

My babies cry for bread. 



" I'm just as sorry for poor Tom 

As you can be, friend Jack, 
And I would rather help him on 

Than try to set him back. 
But I have always noticed 

When a fellow guzzles rum 
And loafs about and takes his ease, 

Hard hick is sure to coined 



►44 THE HORSE. 



THE HORSE. 

/^F all the lower animals 

^^ That humbly tread the earth 

To work for careless, thankless man. 

The horse has greatest worth. 
A very giant in his strength, 

And yet withal so mild, 
That he will readily obey 

An invalid or child. 

How patient and how tractable, 

How willing he to toil — 
A very slave to man, and yet 

The monarch of the soil. 
The meanest steed is worth regard, 

But beautiful to see 
Is one of choicest lineage 

And perfect symmetry. 

No pen can do him justice, 

And e'en the limner's art 
Will fail a perfect idea 

Of the racer to impart. 
His form may be depicted. 

But the fire in his eye. 
The life that animates his frame, 

These, every art defy. 



THE POWER OF STEAM. 245 

Height, sixteen hands — his color, black — 

An arch'd neck full and strong, 
A pair of eyes that shine like stars, 

Mane, tail, and foretop, long. 
Ears like a fox's, small and sharp. 

With nostrils large and thin, 
And showing, when expanded wide, 

The blood-red tint within. 



THE POWER OF STEAM. 

OH ! be my theme the power of steam — 
'Tis greater than sword or pen; 
For it furnishes bread, and raiment and bed, 

For millions of toiling men. 
Day after day it puffs away, 

Alike in calm or storm, 
And mortals gaze in mute amaze 
At what it can perform. 

It winnows, it plows, it heads, it blows, 

It cuts, it slits, it dresses. 
It stamps, it planes, it digs, it drains, 

It condenses, collects, and presses. 
It forges, it rolls, it melts, it moulds, 

It files, it hammers, it rasps. 
It punches, it beats, it cooks, it heats, 

Releases and tightly grasps. 

It propels, it rows, it warps, it tows, 
It pulls, it carries, it scatters. 



246 THE POWER OF STEAM. 

It pushes, it draws, it gouges, it bores, 
It polishes, breaks, and batters. 

It lowers, it lifts, it grinds, it sifts, 
It washes, it smooths, it crushes, 

It picks, it hews, it prints the news, 
It rivets, it sweeps, it brushes. 

It sculls, it screws, it mends, it glues, 

It pumps, it irrigates. 
It sews, it drills, it levels hills, 

Shuts, opens, and elevates. 
It extracts, confines, it marks out lines. 

It thrashes, it separates. 
It mixes, it kneads, it drives, it leads, 

It chisels, it excavates. 

It stamps, it turns, it hatches, it churns. 

It mortises, saws, and shaves. 
It bolts, it brings, it lends us wings. 

It fights the winds and waves. 
It scutches, it cards, advances, retards. 

It spins, it twists, it weaves, 
It coins, it shears, tear down, uprears. 

Discharges and receives. 

Then be my theme the power of steam — 

'Tis greater than sword or pen ; 
For it furnishes bread, and raiment and bed. 

For millions of toiling men. 
Day after day it puffs away, 

Alike in calm or storm, 
And mortals gaze in mute amaze, 

At what it can perform. 



WOMAN. 247 



WOMAN. 

A HEALTH to the lass with the laughing blue eye, 
That seems to have borrow'd its hue from the sky — 
Where young love is constantly feeding his flame, 
And virtue sits blocking the entrance to shame. 
Who weeps with the mourning and laughs with the gay, 
Who can comfort old age or with infancy play. 
Who quarrels with no one, but sticks to her creed- 
Here's to her, for she is a woman indeed! 

And here's to the girl with the lustrous black eye, 
Who one moment may laugh and the next moment sigh ; 
Whose heart is a casket of joy and of grief, 
And the first knows no limit, the last no relief. 
Who deeply doth love, but as deeply can hate — 
A Christian, and yet a believer in fate — 
Who for pity will weep, or in anger will kill — 
Here's her health— she is one of the softer sex still 1 

Here's to the coquette with the optic of gray. 
Who will never say yes, but can hardly say nay ; 
Who falls dead in love with each gay beau she sees. 
But can never find one for a long time to please. 
Who is anxious to marry, and yet is afraid ; 
Who lives a young ninny, and dies an old maid ; 
Though blameful her follies it must be confess'd. 
Yet her heakh— she's a woman as well as the rest. 



248 MEAGHER'S ESCAPE. 

In fine, here's to woman — the large and the small, 
The lean and the fleshy, the short and the tall, 
The dark eye, the blue eye, the hazel and gray, 
The cheerful and sullen, the grave and the gay. 
I care not how faulty their natures may be — 
They are women — which fact is sufficient for me ; 
As mother, friend, sister, maid, widow, or wife, 
They are God's best gift to man, the consolers of life. 



MEAGHER'S ESCAPE.- 

THERE'S a voice in the gale, speeding over the 
waters, 
A song of rejoicing, a burden of glee, 
A pean from Erin's brave sons and fair daughters, 

"Old Ireland's defender, young Meagher, is free!" 
They could not enslave him ; for on her broad pinions 

The Genius of Liberty day after day 
Hover'd over his head, and from tyranny's minions 
At length bore the noble-soul'd patriot away. 

With honor he shook off the shackles that bound him, 

His parole gave up ere he ventured his plan ; 
And then in broad day, with his enemies round him. 

Cried, ''Now I defy ye! Take me, if you can!" 
But vain their endeavors ; his steed like a swallow 

Flew over the ground with his rider so brave ; 
And soon they found out it was useless to follow. 

For Meagher was safely afloat on the wave. 

* First published under a 110m de plume in 1852. 



RELIGION. 249 

Oh ! how must the news of the captive's achievement — 

The tidings that he had his Hberty won — 
Have chased, as the sun does the mist, the bereavement 

Of those who stood round him at SUevenamon ! 
How eyes must have sparkled and hearts must have 
bounded, 

And hills must have echoed with cheer upon cheer, 
From the wild throbbing- bosoms that quickly surrounded 

The bonfire that blazed upon Corrigmoclier ! 

But it is not his country alone that rejoices ; 

The republican host of our own cherish'd land 
In deep exultation are raising their voices, 

And thronging to grasp the young patriot's hand. 
** You are welcome," they cry, " to the land of the 
stranger — 

Thrice welcome beneath our proud eagle's broad 
wing; 
Here safely repose thee, exempt from all danger 

Protected forever from tyranny's sting. 



RELIGION. 



HAIL, blest Religion ! safeguard of the free ! 
Destroyer of foul vice, mother of purity, 
Thou white-robed seraph at whom skeptics rail — 
Balm of the bleeding heart. Religion, hail! 
Many profess to own thy sacred flame, 
And day by day invoke thy blessed name 
In gorgeous temples, built with jealous care ;. 
But let's look in and see if thou art there. 



250 religion: 

See, in yon cushion'd pew, with downcast look, 
A man sits poring o'er a well-thumb'd book ; 
All richly dress'd is he in vestments rare ; 
And as the holy man pours forth his prayer 
His face assumes a penitential air. 
Mingled somewhat, methinks, with worldly care. 
Now his pale countenance betokens pain, 
And tears are falling from his eyes like rain ! 
He reads a tnemoranduin book of loss and gain ! 
Its contents have convinced him, plain as day, 
That some of his dear cash has flown away. 
He whispers her his loss, and, musing on it. 
His wife is grieving for her next new bonnet. 

In a darksome corner, almost hid from view. 
Sits one who is a villain through and through. 
He's dozing now, and now begins to nod. 
And, sleeping holds communion with his god. 
His gilded god : that man his daughter sold — 
His only daughter — for a heap of gold. 

Now cast your eye on yonder youthful pair, 
Who seem Devotion's counterpart — ^how fair 
And pure they look, those lovely girls ! 
List ! their religion's centred in their curls ! 
"My gracious, Emma! look at Martha's hair! 
How illy it's arranged, I declare!" 

But turn we round our eyes, and gaze we now 
Upon a Christian, whose unclouded brow 
Speaks the tranquillity that reigns within 
His breast. He is not free from sin — 



RELIGION. 251 

(None are, though some pretend to be, 
And elongate their faces piously; 
They never smile — not they — they'd sooner cry, 
And agonize and groan, and sweat and sigh). 
He believes that every creature born of woman 
Has passions, and "to step aside is human." 
He toiling earns his bread— does all he can 
To be what God intended him — a man. 

'Twould fill a book to mention every one— 

The luckless debtor and the heartless dun; 

The widow poor, who scarce her bread can earn. 

Rising from prayer to meet the landlord stern; 

The beggar, perishing through lack of food, 

Doubting the policy of doing good. 

And, losing every thought of future weal. 

Goes forth from prayer constrain'd almost to steal. 

Yes, visit any city church— you'll find 
Within its walls all grades of human kind ; 
But underneath the peasant's humble roof 
(From which the rich man sneering stands aloof) 
The '' peace which passeth understanding " lives— 
That priceless peace which true Religion gives. 
There Nature works, and from the emerald sod 
Around the poor man's cottage, up to God 
The flowers their incense breathe, as if in prayer ; 
And every bird that carols in the air. 
And every breeze that sweeps the forest wild, 
Speaks of Religion, " pure and undefiled." 



THE HERO SAILOR. 



THE HERO SAILOR. 

Lieutenant W. Lewis Herndon, U. S. N., late commander of the 
U. S. Mail Steamship Central America, was lost at sea September 12th, 
1857, by which disaster 326 souls perished, including Captain Herndon, and 
over $2,000,000 of treasure was lost. 

LOOK at his features, ye who read 
Man's nature in his face, 
And tell me if a single line 

Ignoble ye can trace. 
Peruse the well-mark'd lineaments 

As closely as you can, 
And say do they not " give the world 
Assurance of a man } " 

No giant strength did he possess, 

No stalwart, towering form, 
Yet with the strength of Hercules 

He wrestled with the storm ; 
'Twas honor nerved the hero's arm 

And stirr'd his lion heart. 
And taught him how, at duty's call, 

With life itself to part. 

" There is no hope ! It cannot be 

That he escaped the wreck ! 
For he would be the last to leave 

The fated vessel's deck ! " 



THE HERO SAILOR. 

Thus spoke, and truly spoke, 
The gallant sailor's noble wife ; 

She knew to keep his honor whole 
He'd sacrifice his life. 



Weep for his fate, ye maidens, 

Wives, and mothers of the land ! 
On history's page eternally 

The glorious truth shall stand. 
That in that fearful hour of death 

Upon the ocean wild. 
Of all on board there was not lost 

A woman or a child. 



'Twas nobly done, O Herndon ! 

And thy name shall ever be 
In manhood's lexicon a word 

Expressing chivalry. 
Well may the Old Dominion, 

Who gave us Washington, 
And many other noble names, 

Be proud of such a son. 



With placid brow the brave man saw 

The helpless ones depart, 
And then a heavy load of care 

Seem'd lifted from his heart 
He view'd them as they left the ship 

Toss'd on the billows wild. 
Then from his lips the sentence broke, 

" God help my wife and child ! " 



253 



254 ELSIE'S DEATH. 

When the ill-fated ship went down, 

Of all that luckless band 
Alone her brave commander stood, 

A rocket in his hand. 
To the last gasp he clung to her. 

And then, the struggle o'er. 
He calmly closed his eyes in death, 

And sank to rise no more. 

Calm be thy rest, O noble heart ! 

• Upon thy ocean bed; 

Than thine there is no worthier name 

Among the gallant dead. 
Thy fate was mournful, but the world 

Shall speak thy virtues rare, 
While God-like truth exists, and men 

Are brave and women fair. 



ELSIE'S DEATH. 



" Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast Thou ordained 
strength." — Psalm 8 : 2. 

AN infant form lay stark and cold. 
In its last sad habit drest, 
But the smile on its angel features told 

How calm it had sunk to rest. 
And tears down its mother's pale cheek roU'd, 
As she kiss'd her darling, stark and cold. 



ELSIES DEATH. 255 

A little girl — the dead one's twin — 

Stood gazing on the scene ; 
She nothing knew of death or sin, 

And wonder'd what could mean 
Her mother's lamentations loud 
While o'er her darling's corse she bow'd. 

*' What ails my little sister dear ? 

Sweet mamma, tell me, pray. 
I've watch'd her lying silent here 

Throughout the livelong day. 
She does not seem to feel or hear — 
What ails my sister, mamma dear ? " 

" She's dead, my child ; your sister's dead — 

She cannot play again ; 
Her spirit has forever fled 

From grief, and sin, and pain. 
And yet, O God ! my heart will break 
When my last look at her I take ! " 

*' Mamma, have you not often said 

That when good people die, 
They go where no more tears are shed — 

With God, beyond the sky? 
I love my sister, mamma dear, 
But would not, could I, keep her here. 

** For Elsie, I am sure, is there — 

So, mamma, let tis die ; 
And to her in that home so fair 

Together let us fly! 



256 BIRDS WERE NOT MADE IN VAIN. 

I'm very sure, mamma, that she 
Is watching now for you and me ! " 

'* I thank thee, God ! " the mother cried, 

" Now I can bear my loss. 
Come, kneel, sweet one, with me beside 

Your little sister's corse ; 
Raise up your hands, my precious one. 
And pray, * Thy will, not mine, be done ! ' " 



BIRDS WERE NOT MADE IN VAIN. 



A 



FARMER once, 
A youthful dunce. 
Stood gazing o'er a field 
Of springing corn. 
By blackbirds shorn 
Of half that it should yield. 

Said he, " Bright birds, 
Mark ye my words. 
Your doom is surely seal'd. 

"Ye have had your share. 

Of my produce rare ; 
Ye have ranged my broad fields o'er, 

And pick'd and ate . 

At such a rate 
That half my crop or more 

Has felt the blight. 

Of your greedy bite. 
But now your reign is o'er!" 



BIRDS WERE NOT MADE IN VAIN. 

He kept his word ; 

Each joyous bird 
That on the morrow trill'd 

His joyous song 

The meads along 
Was mercilessly kill'd. 

"Now," cried the lad, 

With visage glad, 
" My barn will sure be fill'd ! " 

Time sped along, 
The blackbird's song 

No more was heard in air ; 
The farmer stood 
In solemn mood, 

And features full of care. 
His eye roam'd o'er 
The fields, but saw 

No vegetation there. 

On each green leaf 

A reptile thief. 
Erst the blithe blackbird's prey, 

A full meal had 

The farmer lad 
Had sent their scourge away, 

And the poor wight, 

Possess'd not quite 
The blackbird's power to slay. 

He view'd the scene 
With thouofhtful mien, 



257 



258 HE DID NOT READ THE NEWS. 

His heart was touch'd with pain. 

" O bright wing'd birds 1 " 

He cried, '* that words 
Would bring ye back again ! 

For now, in sooth, 

I feel the truth. 
Birds were not made in vain!" 



HE DID NOT READ THE NEWS. 

ONE summer's morn to Gotham came 
A weary wight, John Smith by name, 
Who travell'd hither from the west 
The profit of fair trade to test. 
His form was bony, lank, and tall, 
His clothes were poor, his means were small. 
A man he was of narrow views 
Who did not care to read the news. 

John entertain'd, 'twixt you and me, 
Queer notions of economy. 
At home he drank, and chew'd — would go 
To see the travelling circus show — 
Would puff his cash away in vapor. 
But couldn't afford to take a paper. 
Of fresh events he held no views. 
Because he didn't read the news. 

Scarce had he got the city in. 
Ere his misfortunes did begin ; 



HE DID NOT READ THE NEWS, 259 

He sold his cattle, got the cash, 

And then resolved to cut a dash. 

He started off without delay. 

And, whistling, saunter'd down Broadway, 

To take an independent cruise — 

He didn't care to read the news. 

''Say Johnny!" cried a voice, "look here!" 
John turn'd and saw a stranger near. 
*' Why, don't you know me, Cousin John ? " 
The man — a well-dressed youth — went on, 
'' Why, I knew you at once, right well ! 
Come, go with me to my hotel ! " 
John went — he couldn't see the ruse — 
Oh ! if he had but read the news ! 

No one will doubt us when we say 

John's cousin was enrich'd that day. 

While hapless John, of sense bereft. 

Had only half his money left. 

'' Gosh ! " cried the dupe, with rage and grief, 

"A fellow dress'd like that a thief! 

I swan ! 'twould give a saint the blues ! 

Oh ! don't I wish I'd read the news ! " 

Deploring his unhappy fate. 

He to a drinking shop went straight 

His sorrows in a glass to drown ; 

And when he'd gulp'd the liquor down, 

At once his brain began to spin, 

For what he swallow'd drugg'd had been, 

And soon his senses John did lose. 

Poor dupe! He hadn't read the news. 



l6o HE DID NOT READ THE NEWS. 

Then many a low-brow'd villain came, 
Considering John Smith fair game. 
They pluck'd him bare, and not a cent 
Had he when to the Tombs he went. 
"Judge!" cried the victim, "Judge! look here! 
I've lost five hundred dollars clear! 
I hope your aid you won't refuse." 
"John," said the justice, "read the news!" 

A sharp-eyed newsboy standing near 
Cried, " Johnny, walk off on your ear ! 
Don't grumble 'cause you've lost your pelf, 
For now you know how 'tis yourself! 
You're fortunate, my old galoot, 
That some one didn't bust your snoot ! 
I guess you're one o' them foo-foos 
Who never want to read the news ! 

" If these cops wasn't standin' by, 

I'd go to work and break your eye ! 

I'd like to paste yer in the ear! 

I'd like to poultice yer ! D'yer hear .^ 

I'd like to take and warm yer jaw 

I would, if 'twasn't for the law ! 

I'm down on these 'ere country Jews, 

Too mean to spend a cent for news ! " 

With heavy heart John left the court, 
And quickly he his village sought. 
Where safe at last, his friends flock'd round 
To learn what fortune he had found. 
John eyed them o'er and o'er again 
Then, with a visage full of pain, 



WILL YOU LOVE ME THE SAME. 261 

He said, " Friends, if there's one here who's 
A goin' to travel, read the news ! 

"I never have myself, but now 
I'll make a solemn, earnest vow 
To go, ere speeds another day, 
And a full year's subscription pay. 
I'll read the paper, every line, 
If it takes from six o'clock till nine ; 
For b'lieve me, friends, a mere recluse 
Is he who never reads the news." 



WILL YOU LOVE ME THE SAME? 

YOU say that you love me, and I will believe thee— 
'Tis too late to doubt thee or part from thee now— 
Nor have I a thought that you'll ever deceive me 

While beauty and freshness are stamp'd on my brow ; 
But, oh, when that beauty and freshness have faded, 

And envious age mars my face and my frame. 
And the silver locks come which cannot be evaded— 
Oh, in that sad time, will you love me the same? 

'Tis sweet, in the spring-time of youthful emotion. 

When swift as a racer our wild pulses play. 
To drink in the words of a lover's devotion. 

Without ever thinking that youth must decay. 
I doubt not you'll cling to and cherish me, dearest. 

While full is love's fountain and bright is his flame, 
But will your love stay with a fervor sincerest 

When the romance is gone? Will you love me the 
same ? 



262 OH, KEEP TRUE TO ME I 



OH, KEEP TRUE TO ME! 

OH, thou adored, with wondrous beauty beaming! 
No Hmner e'er could copy thy sweet face ! 
And ne'er did sculptor in his wildest dreaming 

Catch e'en a semblance of thy form of grace ! 
The very air that lifts thy golden tresses 
Is odor-laden, having toy'd with thee. 
And I am wild with joy at thy caresses ; 

But time kills beauty — oJi, keep true to me ! 

Thy mind is richly stored — bright gems of learning 

Fall in a shower from thy ready tongue ; 
No abstruse study balks thy keen discerning ; 

Thou art an oracle thy friends among ; 
Thine eloquence takes captive every hearer. 

And moves the dullest soul to ecstasy ; 
But there's a quality than language dearer — 

For words are vapor — oJi, keep true to me ! 

Thou boldest in society a proud position — 

Thy rank is high, and rich is thy estate — 
Broad acres are thine own, and thy condition 

Is envied by the greatest of the great. 
I cannot choose but laud thy emulation, 

And I am very proud thy choice to be; 
But beauty, talent, riches, rank and station — 

All these may perish — <?//, keep true to me ! 



A CHRISTMAS NIGHT VISION. 263 



A CHRISTMAS NIGHT VISION. 

j'^-pWAS Christmas Eve— and Harry Hall, 

1 His wife and children three, 
Sat in their wretched little room 

In abject misery. 
They had no fire, they had no food, 

Their frames were almost bare. 
And the sad group a picture form'd 

Of hopeless, blank despair. 

'' I wish old Santa Claus would come, mamma,' 

Cried little Sue, 
"For I am cold as I can be 

And very hungry too. 
But then you know he will not come 

Till we are all in bed. 
So let us go, and then perhaps 

He'll bring us clothes and bread." 

And so the wretched family 

Went to their bed of straw, 
And Harry Hall, at dead of night, 

A blessed vision saw — 
A vision of old Santa Claus 

Replenishing the fire. 
And loaded down with everything 

His sad heart could desire. 



264 A CHRISTMAS NIGHT VISION. 

Upon his shoulders, broad and strong. 

Large packages he bore, 
Containing wholesome bread and clothes- 

And near him, on the floor, 
A sack of coals was open'd wide, 

From which, with looks elate, 
He fill'd, while pulling at his pipe, 

-A scuttle near the grate. 



•It was a blissful, blessed dream 

That Harry Hall slept through. 
And best of all, when morning broke. 

He found the vision true. 
A brother, who had years before 

The ocean gone across. 
Had just return'd in time to be 

Poor Harry's Santa Claus. 



And now a word to Santa Claus, 

The generous and true, 
And then I'll have accomplish'd 

The end I had in view. 
Remember in these panic times 

That many girls and boys 
Want bread, and meat, and clothes, and fire, 

As well as sweets and toys. 



So don't forget, old Santa Claus, 

The picture drawn above ; 
And when you start on Christmas Eve 

Upon your work of love, 



TO THE BABY. 265 

If you would bring a throb of joy 

To many an aching heart, 
Put food, and clothes, and coals, as well 

As candies, in your cart. 



TO THE BABY. 



CROW, kick, and stretch, baby! 
Though crowing be a fowl offense. 
It cannot touch thy innocence: 
And though thy tiny, unskilled ear. 
Like that of noisy chanticleer. 
No knowledge hath of time or tune 
At present, it will alter soon. 
And you may try a higher strain ; 
But till such time I say again. 

Crow, kick, and stretch, baby! 

Crow, kick, and stretch, baby! 
Though kicking may not be genteel 
Except in polka, jig, or reel. 
Thou canst not yet essay to dance 
The latest hop brought o'er from France ; 
And so thy feet should privileged be 
To kick the air right merrily. 
Till thou hast learn'd the power of song, 
And thy young limbs are lithe and strong, 

Crow, kick, and stretch, baby! 



266 CUBA. 

Crow, kick, and stretch, baby! 
Stretching was e'er the wisest plan 
For helpless babe or grown-up man. 
Man, shrinking 'neath the frown of care, 
Should stretch to keep his head in air. 
And babe, if he would thrive and grow. 
Should stretch himself from top to toe. 
Then till the difference 'twixt the two 
You learn, I'll tell thee what to do — • 

Crow, kick, and stretch, baby! 



CUBA. 

FIGHTING 'gainst tyranny, hatred, and spite — 
Fighting for liberty — fighting for right — 
Fighting 'gainst despots and bloodthirsty knaves — 
Fighting to ransom a legion of slaves. 
Fighting 'gainst odds, independence to gain, 
Nerved by the ghosts of the innocents slain — 
Fighting to win — oh, fidelity rare ! — 
Year after year, with no sign of despair. 

Oh, why does Columbia, insulted by Spain, 
Outraged and derided, again and again. 
Look on while her banner is trailed in the dust 
By the bloodthirsty monsters of rapine and lust ? 
Oh, where is the spirit that guided our sires. 
And the vestals that watch'd over liberty's fires ? 
The fires have gone out and the spirit has fled. 
And Freedom, sweet goddess, lies prostrate and dead ! 



CUBA. 267 

How long shall we treat with these butchers of Spain ? 
How long shall the brave Cubans struggle in vain ? 
How long shall the weak be cut down by the strong, 
And their blood cry for vengeance ? Just Heaven ! How 

long ? 
Oh, had we a Jackson to lead us again, 
How soon would he scatter these vermin of Spain ! 
Yea, *' by the Eternal!" their scourge he would be. 
Till tyranny perish'd and Cuba was free. 

What settlement have we effected with Spain ? 

They will give back our ship — can they give back our 

slain ? 
They will try the vile butchers who slaughter'd her crew, 
But will they garrote them as they ought to do? 
No ! Burriel boldly defies Castelar, 
As he views the Republic's fast-paling star ; 
And what he has done he will do o'er again 
In spite of all orders from paralyzed Spain. 

The protocol's fix'd up in excellent shape, 

And now we must live for awhile on red tape. 

We'll swallow the dose that the nations may see, 

How humble, and pliant, and meek we can be. 

And when we have waited till Burriel is gorged 

With the blood of more victims, and more chains are 

forged, 
Of the protocol awkward no further we'll speak. 
But drop the whole subject and " swallow the leek." 



26S RAT, THE NEWSBOY. 



RAT, THE NEWSBOY. 

ON A LATE FRIGHTFUL ACCIDENT. 

MY name is Jimmy Connors, which they calls me 
Rat, for short — 
I'm fourteen, weigh a hundred pounds, likewise I'm fund 

of sport. 
I'm a newsboy, and a bootblack, and I carry bundles 

too — 
In fact, I tackle any job that I am fit to do. 

You ask about the accident that happen'd at the 
ferry — 

I'd rather talk of something else — it makes me feel 
bad — very. 

I can't drive it from my mind, sir, oh ! it was a fear- 
ful sight. 

I'm thinking of it all day long and dream of it at 
night. 

But as you seem to wish it, I'll tackle it once more. 
And tell you, near as possible, exactly what I saw. 
'Tw^as on Sunday, as you know, sir, and nearly one o'clock, 
And I was with my brother, a-fishin' on the dock. 

We hadn't been a-sittin' on the stone pier very long, 
When suddintly we heard the sound of .steam a-blowin' 



RAT, THE NEWSBOY. 269 

And then there came a rumblin' noise, and then a 

crash — a snorter ! 
And then my brother lost his seat and tumbled in the 

water. 



I was dizzy for a minnit, so suddint was the shock, 
And then I stirr'd myself to help my brother on the 

dock. 
I roar'd to see him crawlin' out, and then I fell to 

chaffin' ; 
But in a minnit more, you bet, I didn't feel like laffin'. 

Quicker'n I can tell it, there came a rush o' steam, 
But 'bove the noise it made I heard a hundred people 

scream ; 
My hair riz up, my blood ran cold, so orful did it sound, 
And then a crowd of drownin' folks were strugglin' all 

around ! 



It wasn't long before I saw two babies by me float,. 
And then, like winkin', I threw off my shoes, and vest, 

and coat. 
And plungin' in, I swam to 'em, and brought 'em safe 

ashore ; 
And then I hurried back agin, to try and save some 

more. 



I came near blubberin', you bet, but 'twas no time for 

cryin' 
When men and women, boys and girls, were all around 

us dyin' ; 



2/0 RAT, THE NEWSBOY. 

And SO I labor'd with a will till I was tired out, 
And then I stopp'd awhile to rest myself and then to 
look about. 

And such a sight I hope, sir, I shall never see again ! 
Some dead and others dying — some ravin' mad with 

pain ! 
The air was full of screams, and oaths, and prayers, 

and sighs, and groans — 
Some had no arms nor legs — some had the flesh torn 

from their bones ! 

I rested but a minnit when I went to work again, 

For lookin' at such sights, you bet, went rather 'gainst 

the grain. 
I'm nothin' but a boy, sir, but I did the best I could ; 
If I had been a man, I think I might ha' did some 

good.* 

And now, in few words as I could I've told you all I 

saw. 
And so, not wishin' to offend, I think I'll chin no more ; 
I'm onto bissiness now, you see, for it is after nine — 
Your boots is very dirty, sir — say, won't you take a shine } 

* It is estimated that " Rat " saved at least ten persons. 



YOU SPEAK AN UNTRUTH. 



271 



Y 



YOU SPEAK AN UNTRUTH. 
OU speak an untruth when you say that you love 



me- 



That I am the nearest and dearest of all — 
That in your esteem there is no one above me — 

That no other beauty your heart can enthrall. 
You tell me all this while your pulses are leaping 

With the maddening warmth of a passion that kills, 
While conscience is silent and reason is sleeping, 

And the subtle tongue speaks what impurity wills. 

You tell me you love me with deepest devotion, 

And in the next moment your heart you disclose, 
Awakening within me a painful emotion 

By uttering what you should blush to propose. 
If you had a rich jewel, say, would you impair it 

By purposely soiling its beauty so bright t 
Nay, would it not rather delight you to wear it 

With not a ray lost from its dazzling light ? 

And am I worth less than a glittering jewel. 

That idly you'd bring a reproach to my name. 
And in your blind passion, remorseless and cruel. 

Destroy my heart's quiet and tarnish my fame } 
I've lov'd, and still love thee — how hard the confession ! — 

All selfish, and heartless, and false as thou art — 
But leave me ! I cannot forgive thy transgression — 

'Twill live in my brain and is sear'd on my heart ! 



2/2 WHY NOT FORGIVE HIM? 

Oh, man of the world ! oh, proud minion of fashion ! 

Among the gay bowers of pleasure you rove. 
And sacrifice oft on the altar of passion 

The hearts that, untouch'd, would be sacred to love. 
Oh, fond, feeble woman, when temptation meets you, 

Let prudence and purity sound the alarm — 
Remember this fact, when a libertine greets you ; 

No man loves the woman he's willing to harm. 



WHY NOT FORGIVE HIM? 

WHY not forgive your brother 
If he comes to you in sorrow ? 
Why not your anger smother 

Ere the dawning of to-morrow ? 
You say he has reviled you 

Your dearest friends among — 
But has error ne'er beguiled you ? 
Have you ne'er committed wrong ? 

Why not forgive him ? 

He is penitent and humble — 

He is weak and in your power — 
Who is not apt to stumble 

When passion rules the hour ? 
He wrong'd you in his blindness — 

Now act the Christian's part, 
And pour the balm of kindness 

On his sad, repentant heart. 

Why not forgive him .'' 



MAGIC, 

Can you look for sweet contentment, 

Or can love your bosom fill, 
While you cherish fierce resentment 

For the one who treats you ill ? 
No ! Spite of proud position — 

Of place, or power, or pelf, 
Unblest is your condition 

Till you triumph o'er yourself. 

Why not forgive him ? 

With grief his heart is riven — 

And can you with reason pray 
That your sins may be forgiven. 

When from him you turn away ? 
Vaunt not your pure condition, 

Nor back forgiveness keep — 
Think of God's admonition 

" As ye sow so shall ye reap ! " 

Why not forgive him ? 



273 



MAGIC. 

THE magic, oh, the magic, in a pair of brilliant eyes ! 
Now twinkling with merriment — now looking very 
wise — 
Now glorious with the love-light that hope and joy impart — 
Now beaming with a passion that electrifies the heart ! 

The magic, oh, the magic, in a pair of pouting lips ! 
Now dewy with the balmy breath which love ecstatic sips, 
Now sweetly tantalizing by a gesture grave and coy — 
Now vin:eathed in smiles bewitching and welling o'er with 
joy! 

R 



2/4 ^^ FATE. 

The magic, oh, the magic, in a sweet voice, soft and low — 
Now thrilling us with rapture — now touching us with 

woe — 
Now uttering in softest tones heart-satisfying words — 
Now warbling notes that far excel the melody of birds. 

The magic, oh, the magic in a loyal, loving soul ! 
What shall its heaven-born, beatific qualities control ? 
'Neath its mysterious influence we sorrow or rejoice. 
It speaks in form and motion, and in eyes and lips and 
voice. 



MY FATE. 

I MET my fate long years ago — 
A being fair as Venus — 
But she was wed and chaste as snow, 

And no word pass'd between us. 
I felt the pain of love's keen dart, 

And yet no thought I hinted. 
But on my palpitating heart 
Her image was imprinted. 

Her face and figure wove a spell 

While her bright eyes were beaming. 
Which, to my thinking, would excel 

A sculptor's wildest dreaming. 
I could not rest, I loved her so ! 

But still I gave no token. 
For she was wed and chaste as snow, 

And not a word was spoken. 



MV FATE. 

And still I dared her gaze to meet, 

And still I linger'd near her, 
For oh, it was so tempting sweet 

To look at and to hear her! 
Her voice so musical and low, 

My bosom sadly flutter'd. 
But she was wed and chaste as snow, 

And not a word was utter'd. 

We parted and we met again — 
She was a wife no lonsfer — 

o 

Time had not cancell'd my sweet pain 
But only made it stronger ; 

And freely then I let her know 
How she my bosom haunted. 

For she was free and chaste as snow, 
And I spoke out undaunted. 

And now, oh, joy! we mated are — 

Her eyes are on me beaming — 
They 'mind me of the lucky star 

That rose on my love-dreaming. 
Come joy, come sorrow, weal or woe, 

No ill our hearts can sever. 
For she is wed and chaste as snow, 

And she is mine forever. 



275 



2/6 BURR I EL, THE BUTCHER, 



BURRIEL, THE BUTCHER. 

BLOODTHIRSTY Burriel, cursed be thy house ! 
Thou type of the tiger, the snake and the mouse ! 
The tiger, who in bloody diet dehghts — 
The venomous snake, who without warning bites — 
The cowardly mouse, who will start at a sound — 
Their qualities make up thy loathsome compound. 

Thou pitiless monster ! thou vile hound of Spain ! 
Whose horrid fangs reek with the blood of the slain. 
Thou revellest now in thy gore-spatter'd lair, 
But thy cruel heart will be smote by despair 
When justice o'ertakes thee — and traced on the wall 
You see the handwriting that heralds thy fall. 

And history shall record when thou art no more 
The deeds of the vulture, who revelled in gore, 
And thy name shall be utter'd in ev'ry pure home 
With deep detestation for ages to come. 
And all will agree that our sin-burden'd earth 
Ne'er gave such a venomous man-monster birth. 

And thy soul — what of that ? when to torture eternal 
It crosses the Styx to the regions infernal, 
Old Charon will shudder with dread lest his bark 
Should sink with a burden so heavy and dark ; 
And when thou fast anchor'd in Tophet shalt be, 
Grim Satan will tremble to look upon thee. 



FAREWELL. 



277 



FAREWELL. 

F'AREWELL ! my dream of love is o'er- 
The magic spell is ended — 
I'll never gaze upon thee more, 

Thou vision rare and splendid ! 
There is no power in thine eyes 

To thrill or to enslave me, 
Since I have pierced thy weak disguise, 
And now my pride must save nje. 

Farewell ! I would not wed thee now — ' " 

To gain uncounted treasures — ^^ 

I leave with thee thy broken vow, 

The bright world and its pleasures. 
Live thou amid the proud and gay, 

Extoll'd caress'd, diverted. 
To wake from folly's dream some day, 

By all the world deserted. 

Farewell ! and when the fatal blow. 

Which well I know awaits thee, 
Pierces thy heart with keenest woe. 

And crushes and prostrates thee, 
Then think of him whose heart you cleft — 

Unthinking and unsparing — 
Of peace, of hope, of joy bereft, 

And drove him forth despairing. 



2/8 



IN TIME. 



IN TIME. 

EVERY wrong shall righted be, 
In Time. 
Vice shall surely blighted be, 
In time. 
Vice is reckless and defiant — 
Virtue strong and self-reliant — 
Sin will surely wreck her client, 
In time. 

Every trial must be ended, 

In time. 
Every ill will be amended, 

In time. 
Guilt may hide, but not securely — 
Her disguise deceives but poorly — 
Stern-brow'd justice finds her surely. 
In time. 

Punishment o'ertakes transgression, 
In time. 

Fate compels a full confession, 
In time. 

None can safely sin forever — 

Conscience leaves the bosom never. 

It will crush guilt's best endeavor, 
In time. 



SWEET MEMORIES. 

Sad soul, patience ! doubt will vanish, 

In time — 
Truth's pure light will darkness banish. 

In time. 
Wait for peace till fate reveals it — 
It is near, but Heaven conceals it — 
Just the law, till Heaven repeals it. 
In time. 



279 



SWEET MEMORIES. 

WHEN winter hurls her bitter sleet 
Across the unprotected moor. 
The traveller with hasty feet 

Speeds on toward his cabin door ; 
But though the sharp-fang'd nipping air 

May crust his beard with icy rime, 
It cannot from his memory tear 

The sweet delights of summer-time. 

So every memory borne of joy 

Will live as long as life shall last ; 
No changes can the charm destroy — 

Tis proof 'gainst every arrow cast, 
A backward view recalls the hours 

That once our youthful pulses thrill'd, 
As aromatic summer flowers 

Live in the scents from them distill'd. 



28o SWEET MEMORIES. 

The memory of a childhood pass'd 

Beneath a gentle mother's sway, 
With love's sweet mantle o'er it cast, 

Can never wholly pass away. 
Whatever adult fate we earn, 

Whate'er the censure or the praise — 
Still will the fond heart sometimes turn 

Back to those careless, happy days. 

, Then let us, as we journey on. 

Endeavor some sad heart to cheer — 
'Twill be an act to think upon 

When ending our probation here — 
A joy to know that after death 

Has set the restless spirit free. 
There still lives in our mortal breath 

Some fondly cherish'd memory. 



THE END. 



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